Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
For how popular the griffin show ranked among patrons, Aila marveled at how she seemed to visit the amphitheater exclusively under duress.
Even with several hours until the next show, the Renkailan section bustled with visitors. Aila kept to the edge of the paths, giant banyan trees and red teak railings boxing in either side, a flood of sneakers and stroller wheels churning alongside her. Early summer often saw packed crowds, but spring should have been a lull, people occupied with work and school. Instead, group after group crowded past, families and unburdened adults in equal numbers.
Aila had never seen so much phoenix merchandise.
The twirling light-up toys had always been popular in the gift shop, perhaps a ruby fan or two in the hot months. Now, patrons munched phoenix feather cake pops, the fancy cayenne-chocolate kind the zoo usually only busted out for holidays. Children pranced in feathered face paint. T-shirts showcased phoenix prints with stylized feathers, others of cute cartoon versions with sparkling eyes. One toddler stumbled past with a feathered headband, giggling as he pulled a phoenix kite behind him.
All of it rang a bell. Spreadsheets and order forms Luciana had shoved in front of Aila over the past several weeks, a publicity campaign launched in tandem with the phoenix transfer. Aila listened with half an ear. Bickering birds had consumed her attention.
All this excitement for a phoenix? Her phoenix? Maybe Luciana did have one teeny, tiny, valid point about Aila keeping her head in the sand.
This apology was going to sting.
The vine-swathed walls of the amphitheater made Aila feel tiny, insignificant, a carbuncle with tails between its legs, come to apologize to a woman she’d sparred with for years. The faster she got this over with, the faster she could go back to watching her two phoenixes want nothing to do with each other.
Behind the amphitheater, a thunderhawk called from the aviaries, the sound leaving static on the air. Aila rounded the empty stage and ducked into the prep area. A lone blue light glowed from a computer screen in the tech room, accompanied by the clatter of keys. Nadia sat at the sound control panel, headphones clamped over her ears.
“Hey, Nadia?” Aila called in.
The woman kept typing, her head bobbing in rhythm to some unheard music.
“ Nadia .”
She startled. Slipped off her headphones. “Oh, hey, Aila. What’s up?”
“I was just… um…” Aila dug the toe of her boot into the floor. “Wondering if Luciana passed through here?”
Nadia frowned. “Haven’t seen her since she headed your way. But if she’s back…” Her voice dropped, fingers fidgeting on her headphones. “She’s been spending a lot of time in the griffin barns. You know.”
That explained the hay clinging to Luciana’s shirt. Aila thanked Nadia, then skittered back outside. Should have guessed Luciana would be in the same spot as Aila’s last two visits, tending her ailing peacock griffin. Having poor, sweet Nimit to fawn over was bound to lower Aila’s guard. She steeled herself as best she could.
She arrived at the griffin barn to find the door cracked open. Aila paused on the threshold and imagined herself tall, fierce, a majestic dragon in meek human clothing. One simple apology for a simple misunderstanding. She could manage that much, even if it seemed a little dumb. After Luciana had laughed at her. After years of snide remarks and condescending scowls. Why did Aila have to be the better person?
Focus. One simple apology. Then she could leave. Maybe a show of civility would bring the ice witch down a peg.
She gritted her teeth and slid open the door. Sunlight slanted through the windows, catching every mote of dust and hay that swirled at Aila’s entry. Luciana sat against the wall, legs sprawled over swept concrete, arms clutched across her chest.
The stall was empty.
This had always been Nimit’s barn. Aila frowned at the clean floor, no bed of hay piled in the center. No bowl of lettuce or griffin protein cakes. A smell of feathers lingered on the air, fading beneath something clean. Sterile.
From the corner, Luciana sniffed.
“What the fuck do you want now?” she demanded.
“Luciana… where’s Nimit?”
Aila thought she’d seen the woman angry before, but now . Luciana snarled with perfect painted lips, her eyes slitted and raw and rimmed with smeared mascara. “Are you fucking serious? You’re so caught up with your special little phoenixes, you can’t bother to give a shit about the rest of the zoo?”
“What happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened ? He was the oldest peacock griffin the zoo’s ever had.” Luciana’s breath shook, head cradled in her hands. “We lose them all, eventually.”
Aila stared at the empty room, a pit sinking deeper in her stomach than she knew there was space to drop. Nimit had been old. Ailing for so long. She’d missed the last staff meeting (or several), but she should have heard…
“Luciana,” Aila whispered. “Skies and seas, I… I’m so sorry.”
Luciana laughed, cold and humorless. “Are you? Well, doesn’t that make me feel all warm and fuzzy.”
“When?” Aila stared at the room, trying to force the empty space to make sense.
“Two weeks ago.”
“ Two weeks? But you’ve been handling interviews for us. Setting up our whole PR program. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Luciana wiped a hand over her tear-glistened cheek, too calm. “Sometimes, staying distracted is a good thing.”
Aila imagined how it would feel. Just the thought of losing Rubra, or Archie, or any of the animals who’d become the foundation of her life. Her heart twisted in a nest of barbed wire, tight in her chest, hard to breathe. She’d be a wreck. A sobbing mess on the floor.
Luciana hadn’t betrayed any of that. A few late appointments. Some tired circles under her eyes. Though she didn’t always show it, she had to have cared deeply about Nimit, yet her mask remained immaculate. All glamor. All confidence.
Just like their group project, Luciana faking a smile while aiding an ailing friend no one knew about. Always bottled up. Always close to the chest. Impossible, sometimes, to know what other people were going through.
“If that’s all,” Luciana said, flat, “I’d appreciate some time alone.”
No sobs. No hiccups. Tears trickled silent down her cheeks, eyes distant, a tired sorrow.
“No. That’s not all.” Aila sank to her knees, the floor too cold and clean. “Look, Luciana, I… came to say sorry. I shouldn’t have said those mean things about you. And I shouldn’t have assumed your intentions with that group project. I…” She picked at her nails. “I guess I was just being insecure.”
Luciana didn’t look at her. “It’s fine. That was a long time ago. What does it matter?”
“It does matter. At least to me.” Aila rocked on her heels, uncomfortable with the silence. She shifted to stand up. “So. Yeah. There’s that. I’ll leave you alone to—”
“I’m sorry, too.”
The words came meek, Luciana’s fingers pressed to her temple. Aila sat back down, wary. “Sorry about what?”
“I remember laughing at you in class.”
Oh. Aila clenched her hands. How had a simple apology spiraled out of control?
“I shouldn’t have laughed,” Luciana continued. “It just came out, before I thought better of it. When I was learning how to fight my nerves in front of a crowd, my teacher told me to laugh. Something quick to break the tension, to make everything feel a little less scary. I had no idea how bad your stage fright was, that I’d make things worse. I’m sorry. I guess I do come off as a bitch a lot of times.”
Aila went ramrod-straight as she listened to the most earnest thing Luciana had ever told her. With too many revelations to process all at once, one above all leapt out at her.
“ You used to be afraid of talking in front of people?”
Luciana scoffed. “Of course. Everyone’s afraid at first.”
Aila’s eyebrows tried to touch the ceiling.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Luciana said. “Some people handle social situations better than others, but standing on a stage is scary. What—you think I just popped into the world ready to give presentations?”
Of course not.
Maybe.
Aila didn’t know. Seeing Luciana on the griffin show stage, tall and proud and exuding confidence, the idea of her with wobbling legs seemed impossible. Aila swayed until her back hit the wall, an anchor as she attempted to process this new, raw Luciana sitting beside her.
“You should still do the interviews,” Aila said. “If you’re up to it. You’re so much better with people.”
“You could be, too.”
Aila puffed disgruntled air.
“I’m serious, you loser,” Luciana said. “It won’t be easy to step outside your comfort zone. Maybe it never will be. You could still learn the basics.”
Aila slumped against the barn wall. She’d tried to learn. Maybe she could learn.
“I’m just…” She chewed her lip. “I’m afraid. OK?”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of failing!” Aila threw up her hands. “Failing the zoo. Failing the phoenixes. Failing Tanya, and Connor, and all the people who helped from the griffin show, and…” She swallowed her pride. Today was weird enough already. “And failing you . Everyone who’s put their time and effort into this.”
“And afraid of failing yourself?”
“What?” Aila scrunched her nose. “Well… sure… I guess that, too.”
Luciana stared her down.
“You know, it’s just my childhood dream,” Aila said. “The goal I’ve worked toward my entire professional life. And if I fail, I might never get to try again.”
That last part, Aila hadn’t confessed to anyone other than Tourmaline. As excellent a listener as the carbuncle was, speaking her darkest fear to another human left her jittery. And the first time came out for Luciana, of all people? Was Aila trying to get laughed at again?
She had no idea how to handle quiet Luciana, pensive Luciana, who for all the world appeared to listen to every word. What a weird feeling, being listened to. Aila’s words fizzled like bubbles, stable so long as she kept them bottled safe inside her, an explosive mess when they escaped. Most people let the ephemeral thoughts vanish like the timid girl who spoke them, that reclusive creature more eager to slink into a corner than to press a point. Easier, in a way. Fewer judging eyes and ears.
When Aila finished, Luciana tilted her head back. A gorgeous beast, even with tear-streaked mascara.
“Of course you’re afraid,” Luciana said. “You’d be insane otherwise, all that responsibility. But that doesn’t matter now.”
Aila clutched her knees to her chest, trying to become small. To vanish and never show this vulnerability again. “Why?”
“Because the phoenix is here, Aila. He’s yours. No matter how afraid you are, no matter how many things go wrong, you have to act to make this work. And you will. You’ll mess up a few times along the way. But you’ll push through it because you have to, because those phoenixes need you. And you’ll have people there to help you every step of the way.”
Aila unshriveled. A timid caterpillar emerging from its cocoon, not sure how much of it was butterfly, how much remained useless insect goo. In a single afternoon, Luciana had said more nice things to her than in the seven years they’d known each other.
More nice things than most other people had said to Aila.
Shit. That meant Aila was supposed to say something nice back. She waded through her knee-jerk insults, her witch commentary, desperately searching for something more…
“Your friend,” Aila said. “Is she OK now?”
Luciana knit her slim, unfairly perfect brows in confusion.
“From college,” Aila stammered. “That group project in outreach class. You said you wanted to work with your friend. You said she was having a hard time. Is she OK now?”
“Oh.” Luciana spoke soft as phoenix dander. “Yeah. She made it, graduated and all that. Kristina Laro. If you remember.”
Aila did. Kristina. They’d never talked, really. Aila hadn’t talked to much of anyone, other than Tanya. But they’d had barn cleaning duty together once. Kristina had hardly said a word. Aila blamed her usual social awkwardness, had never thought Kristina might be…
“She’s at a zoo in Ziclexia now,” Luciana went on. “Which is really far away. But she’s happy. They’ve got one of the best reptile conservation programs out there, and she fell in love with the yellow-finned caimans. We still talk. As much as we can, at least.”
Luciana picked a nail at her jeans, flicking off bits of hay dust. Aila squinted. It couldn’t be. It was literally, physically inconceivable that Luciana, the flawless queen of the San Tamculo griffin show, could ever be…
Self-conscious.
Sad.
Maybe even a little… lonely, talking about a friend on the other side of the world.
“You’ve got people here to help you, too, you know,” Aila said. “If you need to cancel some interviews, shuffle things around. We’ll understand. I wish you’d told Tanya and me about Nimit sooner.”
Luciana half laughed, half sniffed. “What could you have done?”
“I don’t know. Something?” That was a lie. Aila struggled with normal people interactions, to say nothing of grief counseling. “We could have gotten some salted tequila shots at the Macbhairan Pub, if nothing else.”
Luciana’s face shriveled. “That bar near the harbor? How would that…? Wait. The fuck. Is that your family?”
Back to shrivel mode. “Well. Yeah. My parents, at least. I didn’t follow in the family business. Obviously. I don’t even know if it’s really a family business. Just them.” She coughed, hay dust stuck in her throat. “Have…? uh… Have you been?”
Aila cringed, awaiting the answer. Luciana cut her a dry look.
“That potato salsa makes zero sense,” Luciana said. “But it’s delicious. Probably goes great with tequila, too.”
Aila staggered, the camaraderie of potato salsa too much to bear. Of course it was delicious. Spicy and savory and starchy, all the essential taste groups. She could level a whole bowl and a bag of tortilla chips on her own, with or without Tanya’s judging looks.
Luciana, though.
How wrong had Aila been about her, harboring a grudge all this time?
“I appreciate you stopping by,” Luciana said, a suspicious levity forced into her voice as she wiped away another tear. “Really kind of you, Aila. But I’m sure you’re itching to get back to your phoenixes. I’ll be OK.”
Aila was, indeed, itching to get back to her phoenixes, who were still on their supervised playdate. Tanya could handle it. The birds had hardly looked at each other all morning.
“Are you sure?” Aila asked.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Nimit meant a lot to you.” Aila pictured this barn a few months ago, the peacock griffin’s head nuzzled in Luciana’s lap. “That’s OK, you know. Caring about your animal. You don’t have to pretend to be granite all the time.”
Luciana’s lower lip jutted out, defiant, betrayed by a quiver. “He was pretty wonderful.”
“Super popular in the show, too. From what I heard.”
“The nicest peacock griffin we ever trained.”
It happened in an instant. There sat Luciana, fierce as a basilisk even in her misery, head tall and lips clamped. Then she crumpled. Drew her knees to her chest just as Aila had done, a sob sending the glossy strands of her ponytail cascading over one shoulder.
“Gentle as a mouse griffin,” Luciana sobbed. “Thirty years at this zoo, and he never so much as scratched a keeper by accident. Could have put a toddler on his back, and he’d guard it like his own.” She sniffed, face buried in her hands. “He was my first training assignment with the show. I was so worried about fucking up, so afraid of making a mistake on the stage. But Nimit was perfect. Like he could sense when I was nervous, and he’d just… press his head into my chest… and…”
The words dissolved as Luciana gave in to tears.
What was Aila supposed to do? She sat petrified, heart lurching in empathy, terrified of saying the wrong thing. She could claim she understood, but she didn’t, having yet to lose one of her charges. She could crack a joke, but her jokes were shit, and this didn’t seem the place. A hand on the shoulder? Aila wasn’t positive she’d escape unscathed.
She opted for silence. A quiet companion to listen to Luciana’s memories, to keep them safe and remembered. That was what Aila would want.
In time, Luciana’s breathing calmed. She lifted her head, mascara ruined, cheeks puffy. Still gorgeous.
“He was a good griffin.” She wiped her smeared make-up with the back of her hand, quick and efficient movements—as if that, too, was practiced routine. “We’ve been training his replacement for a while. Big talons to fill.”
“I’m sure,” Aila said.
“You can leave now. Really. I don’t know how I can embarrass myself any further.”
To the contrary. Aila had never respected her more.
She jumped to her feet and held out her hands. “Come on.”
Luciana squinted up at her. “Come on, what?”
“Get up and come with me. We need to help you feel better.”
“ We don’t need to do anything—”
Luciana snarled as Aila grabbed her arms and heaved. Aila was smaller. Luciana could have fought back. Despite her protests, she let Aila drag her to her feet.
“I just need some time, Aila.”
“Of course you do. But what will help that time go better?”
“Liquor?”
“Fair. But do you know what else will help?”
Luciana looked ready to commit murder as Aila dragged her into the afternoon sunlight. She fumed while being led away from the griffin show amphitheater, and for once, the bevy of visitors was a boon—too many witnesses to risk tackling Aila into the bushes. Not until they reached the gift shop did Luciana plant her feet, face chiseled into crystallized outrage.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Stay right here.” Aila dove between the shelves.
The place smelled of plastic and fabric dye, salty Movas air from the open windows mixed with sunscreen and the sweet of soda cups balanced in patron hands. Every time Aila visited (not often, given the crowds), the place seemed more sprawling than the last, yet she’d never noticed so much red before. Racks of phoenix shirts and hats, shelves of phoenix picture frames and feather umbrellas and snow globes with little motes of ash instead of snow. Candy-coated phoenix eggs that probably tasted mediocre and definitely didn’t have an accurate speckling pattern on the shell, but damn if they didn’t put a grin on Aila’s face.
By a stroke of luck, Luciana was trapped at the door by a little girl with a peacock-feather dress, pulling at her mother’s arm.
“Are you the griffin lady?” she said in slurred child words, eyes wide. “Momma, Momma, look! It’s the griffin lady!”
The girl hopped up and down as her mother led her over.
Luciana cleared her throat. The smile snapped into place like second nature. “Yes, I am.” She leaned down to the child’s level. “How are you today, pretty little lady? I love your dress.”
Trapped by her own public relations instincts. While Luciana fielded the giggling girl, Aila swooped past the gift shop windows like a thunderhawk on a desert scarp. Regardless of season, the most popular items on display were always the animal plushes. Chubby diamondback dragons with big glass eyes and faux leather wings. Soft krakens that could be worn as hats, their tentacles dangling down to Aila’s waist. More phoenixes than usual, fluffy red fabric for the bodies accented with metallic gold tail feathers. Aila might have snagged one of those, too, if she didn’t already have a pair at home.
The second most abundant plush at the gift shop? Peacock griffins.
They perched on the shelves with cobalt heads dusted in glitter, rufous wings splayed to a delightful flop, a long train of green and blue tail feathers. A range of sizes as well, all the way from palm-sized companions to fabric behemoths half as big as Aila. She grabbed the largest one and hurried to the register.
A tap of her phone to pay.
A near pass on the commemorative tote bag at checkout, then Aila saw the new phoenix design printed on the canvas and had to throw that in as well.
“I’m not sure who would win in a race,” Luciana said with the patience of a goddess, the little girl hanging rapt on every word. “Plumed dragons are very fast in the air, but merlions are fast in the water. Hard to compare.”
“You think?” the girl said. “But what if the merlion had a jetpack?”
“That would change things.”
“But what if the plumed dragon also had a jetpack?”
“Hmm. In that case.” Luciana winked. “My money is on the dragon.”
The patrons thanked her and left the gift shop, mother leading the way, daughter bouncing more than ever. Luciana’s smile tumbled off. She pressed a hand to her temple.
“All right, Aila. Can we get out of here now? Before anyone else…”
When Luciana turned, Aila stood behind her, obscured by the ginormous griffin plush held up in offering. Honestly, she couldn’t see well around the thing. The sudden silence on the other side of Plush Wall gave her a moment of concern. She peeked around a fuzzy wing.
Luciana’s mouth hung open. Her eyes glistened, as if teetering on the crest of more tears.
“What in all the skies and seas is that ?”
The words came clipped as wilting rose branches, thorns at the edges, enough to make Aila second-guess the gesture. The plush sagged in her hands.
“It seemed like something you would like. But also something you wouldn’t get for yourself. If you don’t want it, though, I could return it—”
Before Aila could retreat, Luciana reached out. Hesitant, manicured fingers closed around the griffin’s torso, as if too tight a grip might ruin it. She spun the toy in a slow circle, inspecting every stitch like a stern school matron. Aila held her breath.
Luciana hugged the plush to her chest, hiding a quivering lip behind fabric.
“Thank you, Aila,” she whispered.
What a weird fucking day.
“Don’t mention it,” Aila said. “Consider it a thank you, after all you’ve done for the phoenix program.” She gestured to the phoenix-heavy gift shop. “It’s, um… really nice to see.” Something she should have seen sooner.
Luciana laughed. “We’re not done yet. But I’m glad you like it.” The soft tap of her nose to the griffin’s head was the single cutest, most normal human thing Aila had ever seen her do.
Both their radios crackled.
“Aila.” Tanya’s voice came through. “Aila, pick up.”
Thank the skies and seas, enough emotional turmoil for one day, time to get back to work. Aila unclipped her radio. “Hey, Tanya. Sorry for the delay. I’m on my way back.”
“We’ve got an emergency. Get back here. Now! ”
Aila shared a wide-eyed look with Luciana, who’d lowered her griffin plush to a more professional cradle in her arms.
“An emergency?” Aila radioed back. “What kind of emergency? Is everything all right?”
“Just get up here!”
Aila clicked her radio back to her belt in mid-stride, already sprinting out the door.