Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Just… a… little… more…”
Aila braced her boots against damp soil and heaved a wrench until the bolt refused to budge. She stepped back and swiped a hand across her brow, slicked with sweat in the humid aviary air.
“Well? What do you think?”
Archie perched on a branch above her, cobalt crest raised. He fluttered down to inspect her work: a shiny metal mobile of spinning mirrors and chimes, bolted to a platform alongside one of the observation decks. No errant pieces this time. For all the effort she’d dedicated to her phoenixes, she couldn’t neglect the rest of her animals.
Archie landed on a rotating metal arm and pushed himself into a twirl, honking in glee. Next, he chomped a dangling metal rod and tried to abscond. The fixture didn’t budge. He settled for pecking his reflection in a mirror.
The aviary came to life around them. The screaming mynas hopped down next, trading toddler-like squeals as they jingled the metal chimes. The periwinkle prairie geese watched from the path, their lavender aroma swelling the air with a relaxing aura. Even a timid cinnamon bird popped out to peck at a mirror. He wore fresh curls of bark stuffed into his tail, a successful bid at romance (Aila discovered the season’s first nest in a cinnamon tree that morning).
Her favorite season. And this year, something even more special to look forward to.
Aila swung her legs over the edge of the observation deck and pulled up the phoenix live cam on her phone. The video focused on the wooden nest platform, where Rubra and Carmesi had spent the past weeks collecting sticks and squabbling over how to arrange them just right. In most cases, Rubra seemed to get her way.
Every summer, instinct drove Rubra to construct a nest on her own. She’d roost in it for a few days, but of course, no eggs.
This year, IMWS was in Aila’s email every day, asking for updates (oh, how the tables turned). Any eggs yet? How about now? Nothing was a given until the clutch appeared, and despite how well everything seemed to be going, Aila didn’t dare jinx herself.
As a distraction from existential dread, she scrolled the video chat.
Viewership skyrocketed when the nest appeared—so much so, the zoo had to add more volunteer moderators to the chat. A raging success, Director Hawthorn had raved at the last staff meeting (which Aila forced herself to attend), all thanks to the news interviews extolling the phoenix program, a snowballing campaign on Griffingram.
In other words, all thanks to Luciana. If not for her, the camera wouldn’t be half as successful. It might not exist at all, nor the flood of donations it had already brought in for the phoenixes. A few months ago, Aila would have chewed her own arm off rather than admit it, but this publicity thing wasn’t all bad. She’d even started taking notes on Luciana. Professional notes, about professional things like public speaking and not yelling at patrons and how to smile even when people asked stupid questions. Speaking of which…
Aila checked the time. With her chores finished for the morning and Archie spinning on his new toy, she decided to do something horrendous.
She headed to a griffin show of her own free will.
One night of supporting Tanya and her volunteer program wasn’t enough. Getting back to staff meetings wasn’t enough. Aila wanted to do better, be better than the cloistered little fern lizard she’d always been, even if that meant stepping outside the safety of her aviaries.
Summer came fast in Movas. In the hills beyond the city, grasses greened by fleeting winter rains faded toward desiccated gold. Zoo visitors swarmed shaded paths beneath the tall conifers of the Vjari section, the lush Fenese bamboo, the thick Renkailan banyan trees. Misters lined major intersections and eating areas, supplemented by large overhead fans and handheld contraptions clutched by patrons. Among them, Aila was delighted to see a large proportion of red and gold phoenix designs.
As she approached the griffin show amphitheater, a recorded announcement came over the loudspeakers.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Please find your seats. The world-famous San Tamculo Zoo griffin show is about to begin!”
At the entry gate, a keeper had to turn several groups away: no more room in the stadium. While the patrons grumbled and dispersed, the keeper—Aila recalled him flecked with fire-resistant orange phoenix paint during the renovations—waved to her.
It was strange, having colleagues greet her with smiles, rather than the wide eyes of a rare animal sighting. She kind of liked it.
“Hey, Aila! Don’t see you here often. If you want to slip in, I can find you a seat?”
“Nah. This is fine.” Aila joined him at the railing, standing room only, but a clear view of the stage, the wide swath of lawn, the tiers of stadium seats packed to capacity. More visitors to the zoo meant more visitors to the griffin show.
Drum music picked up from the speakers. The crowd murmured, then on cue, the flock of mirror flamingos flew out in their choreographed swoop around the amphitheater, colored spotlights glinting off reflective feathers like disco balls. Patrons swiveled to line up photos. As the last flamingo glided out of sight, a laugh sounded from the crowd as a Vjari auk waddled out a trapdoor near the stage, flapping flightless flippers as it ran across the lawn.
The two-headed falcon, Aila didn’t see often, an oddity of the lowland Ziclexian rainforest. It appeared while most attention followed the auk, a dart of dark pointed wings to perch upon a pole near the first row of seats. One head trilled to one half of the crowd. The second head chirped to the opposite half.
As the falcon took off toward the backstage area, heavier wings beat the air. Stratus, the young thunderhawk, swooped over the crowd on his ten-foot wingspan, rustling a couple of hats before ascending to a minaret. From his perch, he let out a shriek that laced the air with ozone, spinning sparks along his crest feathers, summoning a bolt of lightning that turned every light on stage blue.
When the crowd applauded, Aila joined. Still the gaudiest production she’d ever seen, but she had to admit, watching all the birds perform their routines was kind of cool. She imagined the structured chaos backstage, Nadia and the technicians in the AV booth rolling out every light and sound change, keepers shuffling animals for their stage calls.
Lights dipped to the stage. As the music dimmed, the crowd settled as if in preparation for a storm. They weren’t wrong.
“Welcome, everyone, to the San Tamculo Zoo!” Luciana strode onto the stage with arms raised to the crowd, black hair cascading over her shoulders as her microphoned voice soared through the amphitheater. “I’m Luciana, your host today for our incredible, our awe-inspiring, our one-of-a-kind griffin show!”
Aila had half-watched the griffin show several times, never noting much beyond the cheap tricks meant to lure the audience into a sense of adventure. Plenty of cheesy jokes and surprising animal appearances, no performance lingering too long to strain the short attention span of the average visitor.
But the closer Aila watched, the more she was surprised to see. Buried beneath the showmanship, the green-plumed dragon leapt from post to post around the amphitheater just as it would the tree trunks of its native jungle, burrowing into cubby holes with hidden plastic snakes. The thunderhawk returned for a prolonged performance, hovering along the wall of the stadium as if navigating a Movasi rock scarp. Even the vanishing ducks, with their ridiculous obstacle course, chased after fish in swimming pools. Little tidbits of biology wrapped in the shell of performance.
Through it all came Luciana’s infectious enthusiasm, pairing witty attention-grabbers with trivia about each animal’s life history and conservation, how zoo guests could help protect these disappearing species through donations and activism in their everyday lives. Check your pillow tags for sustainable goose down. Insist on alternatives to dragon-scale counters during your next kitchen remodel. Never support pet shops selling hatchling cockatrices.
At some point, Aila stopped paying attention to the animals. She leaned on the railing, studying Luciana’s every movement and intonation like a masterclass. Enthralled by her smile.
Wings rumbled the air, the heaviest yet.
“And now,” Luciana announced amid a shroud of green and pink spotlights. “The star of our show. The resplendent mascot of the San Tamculo Zoo. Our peacock griffin!”
Ranbir, the young peacock griffin, owned the audience the instant he soared into the amphitheater, his tail splayed behind him in an explosion of emerald, blue, and gold eyelets.
Awed by such a majestic creature, it would be easy to miss the curtailed angle of his swoop over the seats. His landing too far right on the stage. The pause between Luciana’s command and his reaction to fan his tail for the applauding crowd. Well trained, but not a full replacement for Nimit yet.
Luciana’s smile never dropped—only a flicker at the edges with each of the griffin’s missteps. Not flawless. Not untouchable. Just practiced at what she did.
Once the peacock griffin exited, Luciana drew the show to a close. As the drum music swelled once more, droves of patrons funneled out of the stands, channeling through the amphitheater gate or down to the edge of the lawn where keepers gathered to accept donations. Aila shuffled against the current until she reached the head of the line.
“Well, look at you.” Luciana stood at the edge of the lawn, separated from patrons by a low rope fence. She gave Aila a dry look. “Made it all the way out here, and you haven’t even burst into flames yet?”
Rather than humor that with a reply (of which Aila had none), she dug for her wallet and pulled out the one crinkled bill she happened to be carrying. Aila held it between two fingers. Luciana gave a soft whistle.
A mouse griffin popped over her shoulder, ear tufts lifted. It leapt into the air on fluttering blue and green wings, snatched the paper from Aila’s hand in one tiny front talon, then deposited the donation into a box held by another keeper.
“OK,” Aila said. “I’ll admit, that’s pretty cute.”
“Isn’t it?” When the mouse griffin returned to Luciana’s shoulder, she booped its beak.
“How does anyone refuse you donations?” Aila asked.
“They don’t, really.”
“So you’re basically a mob boss.”
“Pretty much.”
They shared a laugh. Aila could have forgotten about the crowd around them.
A jab from a shoulder brought her back to reality. Some people lingered to give the mouse griffin their donations, others to ask questions of the keepers. Not wanting to take too much time from real customers, Aila moved out of line.
Luciana caught her hand.
She leaned across the rope fence, soft voice fighting the surrounding din.
“Stick around. Just for a bit.” She tipped her chin to the stands.
Light fingers brushed Aila’s thumb as Luciana stepped back. Mango lingered in her nose, a pleasant sweetness. Aila needed to upgrade her shampoo. Why else had the scent been on her mind lately?
She found a seat in the front row, center stadium. Aila had never sat through a griffin show before. No wonder the program stayed short, if people had to tolerate such uncomfortable concrete benches. The last patrons emptied from the amphitheater. Music faded, and the keepers disappeared into back exhibits. As Luciana stepped up on stage, Aila fidgeted in her seat.
“Hey?” she called across the lawn. “Is this…? You want me to sit out here?”
“That’s perfect,” Luciana called back. “Stay right there. And then…”
Wingbeats rumbled the air.
Aila squeaked in alarm as Ranbir exploded out of the sky, talons swooping over her head, far closer than he’d looked during the show. Then, shock molted into exhilaration. The buffeting air off his wings, the fantastic view of iridescent feathers. What patron wouldn’t adore this?
Just like in the show, the griffin cut his arc short, banking toward the stage without completing the full length of the stadium. When he landed, Luciana met him with hands on her hips, a more annoyed expression than she’d dared during the show. Ranbir bumped his beak against her waist pouch, searching for his mouse reward. She pointed to the stadium.
With a huff, the griffin took flight, once again swooping over Aila’s head, once again cutting his path short. When Luciana refused to relinquish his treat, he pranced around her and flared his crest of blue pom-pom feathers. Luciana stood firm.
Ranbir’s wings beat heavy, a spray of rufous. His next arc cut wide over the seats, encircling the entire stadium.
When he landed, Luciana tossed him a mouse. He snapped it out of the air with glee. From the stands, Aila clapped.
“Skies and seas,” she called out. “Confronting phoenixes is one thing. How do you keep your cool in front of something so… big?”
“What? This oaf?” Luciana looked up at the peacock griffin, his head cocked to inspect her hands for more treats. She scratched beneath his neck, crumpling the beast into a purring pile on the stage. “He’s all fluff. Pretends to act tough.”
Luciana sent him on several more loops of the stadium, each one flawless. Satisfied, she led him out onto the grass.
“We’ve been working on something else.” Luciana ran a hand along the griffin’s side. “What do you say, Ranbir? Want to show Aila your new trick?”
Aila perched on the edge of her seat as Ranbir knelt. Luciana gripped his shoulders, then swung one leg over his back, behind the joint of his wings. With flattened cheeks, the griffin stood, off balance as Luciana sat on top of him.
Incredible. Vjari scarp griffins were domesticated centuries ago, common everywhere from tourist carriages to the recreational griffin rides at the zoo, but peacock griffins had never caught on the same way. More skittish temperaments and lighter frames made them less suitable for riding, yet there Luciana sat, brilliant as a queen on a throne of emerald and cobalt.
With a hiss, Ranbir bolted. Luciana yelped and toppled to the ground, straight on her ass.
“Luciana!”
Aila jumped from her seat and ran across the lawn to make sure the batty woman was all right, but by the time she arrived, Luciana was laughing so hard she had to clutch her sides. The sound had Aila grinning before she realized what was happening. She offered a hand. Luciana took it, and Aila pulled her to her feet.
“Getting better,” Luciana said. “A bit more practice, and maybe we can get airborne.”
Ranbir nudged her side with his beak, as apologetic as Aila had ever seen a griffin. Luciana patted his head.
“Griffin riding?” Aila said. “That’s the new show gimmick?”
Luciana jabbed her elbow. “Gimmick? Don’t tell me you’re still stuck in that rut.”
Granted, riding atop a peacock griffin looked awesome. The principle irked Aila, the endless toil of capturing patrons’ attention, when the animals alone should have been enough to leave anyone in awe.
“Not that long ago, you wanted to steal Rubra for your show.” Aila huffed. “Just because you’ve turned from the side of evil, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
“I did not want to steal her.”
“You have another word for forcibly taking her against my will?”
“I never .”
“On multiple occasions!”
Luciana hardened, that familiar bristle Aila hadn’t stoked in several weeks, fists curled in preparation for battle. Stubborn. But more than that, passionate, the source of the glint Aila had seen in Luciana’s eyes a hundred times but never bothered to interpret.
Aila braced herself for attack.
Instead of a snarl, Luciana dropped soft eyes to the grass. This, Aila decided, was somehow more dangerous. She couldn’t help but be disarmed, concerned she’d spoken too harshly once again.
Devious witch, casting some sort of spell.
“I’m glad to see Rubra put to better use now,” Luciana said.
“She was fine before.”
“Not better now, with a breeding partner?”
Aila scrunched her nose. Low blow. “Technically. I guess .”
“Skies and ever-reaching seas.” Luciana shook her head, a grin lurking underneath. “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. You know that?”
“Coming from you, of all people?”
“Fine. We’re both stubborn. I still say a phoenix would be a fantastic addition to the show, after breeding season.”
Aila would chain herself to the aviary door if she had anything to say about it, but beyond that… “Carmesi does like you,” she grumbled.
“Not me, loser. You could bring him.”
Luciana had a knack for saying absurd, ridiculous things with disturbing nonchalance. Aila gave a caustic laugh. “ Me? On stage? Are you insane?”
Insane and beautiful. What a combination. Luciana pinned her with a smirk, all confidence. All smug. As if she had every move planned out. Aila was never any good at chess.
“You already did an interview with the country’s largest news network,” Luciana said.
“Yeah. But that was on a path . A stage is different.”
“This thing?” Luciana waved at the stage behind her. “It’s not so bad. Come on up, give it a try.”
“What? No. We don’t need to—”
Luciana took Aila’s hand.
Filthy, dirty trick.
Before, in the line, Luciana’s touch had been light. Fleeting. Now, she wrapped Aila’s fingers in hers, soft brown skin callused along the palm. Warmth seeped into Aila’s bones.
By the time thoughts returned to Aila’s head, Luciana had pulled her across the lawn and onto the stage. A painted dot marked the center. Aila stood upon it, and when Luciana’s hands settled on her shoulders, her heart picked up like a bus speeding off a cliff.
“How does it feel?” Luciana asked.
Aila drowned in her expectant gaze, those lidded eyes close enough to catch every facet of warm brown and velvet black in the sunlight. Luciana wore that same intent look during their interview: approval at the sight of Aila dressed up in silky curls and eyeshadow.
Except now, Luciana was looking at… normal Aila. That made no sense.
Goosebumps prickled Aila’s skin. Her stomach tightened into knots. Prompted by imagining a crowd in the stands, no doubt. What else could it be?
“There aren’t any people watching,” Aila said.
“You hardly notice them. Just the lights. The animals.”
Luciana stepped beside her, chin raised to the imaginary onlookers. A majestic beast in her element.
“It’s scary when you first step out,” Luciana said. “Then you slip into your routine. You understand that, don’t you?” When she met Aila’s gaze, the world around them faded. Nothing but dark eyes and smokey lashes, a honeyed glow to the ridges of her cheeks. “All your flashcards? It’s the same thing. Prepare enough, practice enough, everything gets less scary.”
“It… still doesn’t feel right.”
“You can do it. I know you can.”
“Not just that.”
Aila clutched protective arms over her chest and walked to the front of the stage. On the lawn, Ranbir sprawled across the grass, warming his outspread wings in the sun. Aila sat on the stage edge, legs dangling over the concrete lip. Luciana sat beside her.
“What, then?” Luciana asked in a voice so tender, Aila wondered how this could be the same person who’d haunted her college days. Who’d butted heads with her for years.
“I’m scared to death of crowds, sure. But the show is also so…” Aila hesitated, not wanting to be careless with her words. “Commercialized. Everything at the zoo is, but the show even more so. I wish it didn’t have to be that way.”
Luciana braced her hands on the concrete edge, gaze downcast. “I didn’t realize. I always assumed the bad attitude was more… personal.”
“Well. That, too,” Aila muttered. “But these animals are incredible on their own!” She pointed to the peacock griffin, vibrant feathers splayed in sunlight, enough to rival any jewel. “Why all the showboating? Why all the lights and attention grabbing?”
“You’re a rarity. Some people need a reason to care.”
“But why do people need a reason to care?”
Aila’s voice rose, no fault of Luciana’s. The question had harrowed her since she was a little girl, wide eyes staring up at a phoenix on the other side of the zoo glass, unable to understand how anyone could let such a creature disappear from this world.
Why was she telling Luciana all this? Again?
Once again, Aila expected chastisement. Once again, Luciana’s slow nod surprised her.
“I know what you mean.”
Aila blinked. “You… know?”
“How frustrating it is.” Luciana strummed coral nails against her knees. “In high school? I put together a whole bake sale to raise funds for a griffin conservation group. I don’t think more than ten people showed up. I wanted to scream .”
“You?” Aila blurted. “People didn’t show up for you ?”
Luciana laughed. “I told you, dork. I didn’t just appear with a stage persona. It took work. Is that so hard to believe?”
Absolutely. Dumbfounding, in fact, to think that past Luciana wasn’t always in control. She wasn’t always in control now—a real human with flaws, even masked.
“Not everyone needs a reason to care,” Luciana said. “You and I don’t. These animals are priceless to us, just for existing.” Her tone tightened. “On the other side, some people will never care. Too selfish. They care about what this world can do for them, and nothing else.”
Like the phoenix thieves at the Jewelport Zoo. The poachers who made off with that shipment of hatchling dragons. Magical creatures for profit and nothing more. Aila’s stomach twisted.
“But other people,” Luciana said, the softest yet. “ Most people are somewhere in between. Not destructive on purpose, but they don’t have a reason to care yet. They don’t realize why they should care. And no one cares about anything they can’t connect to. That’s our job, Aila. Connecting people to these animals, giving them a reason to care. Whether it’s an exhibit or a show, it’s all the same goal in the end.”
“You think so?” Aila said, quiet.
“Of course. Griffin shows. Exhibits. All the breeding programs and wildlife preserves around the world. We can have all of them. We should have all of them. Not competing, but multiple tools in our arsenal.”
Warmth drifted off her, the sweet of mango and sun-kissed skin.
“I never…” Aila gulped. “Realized how much you care about this.” How had Aila missed it? No one took a mid-salary job mucking out barns on a daily basis if they didn’t care. No one cried over a lost griffin if they didn’t care.
“It’s easy to see how much you care. Even when you’re being stubborn.” Luciana painted the words as a tease. “Use that. It’s scary, I know. But your passion is the best way to get other people excited, and that excitement is what your phoenixes deserve.”
This woman’s kindness was more devastating than any snark. The slightest curve of her smile lulled Aila into an ease she didn’t recognize, didn’t understand, a sort of settling in her bones like sun-warmed concrete.
Why weren’t things ever this easy with Connor?
“Stop it,” Aila pleaded.
“Stop what?”
“Stop saying such nice things! It’s already torture, listening to Tanya’s smug lectures. You see, Ailes? I told you Luc wasn’t so bad —” Aila stiffened, the nickname slipping off her tongue without thought. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Tanya calls you that, but I would never…”
Luciana stared at her too long. At last, a shrug. “It’s fine.”
“It’s… fine ? What’s fine?”
“Used to be only my mom called me Luc. Then some of my friends. Always bothered me when random people used it, trying to suck up or something.”
Aila’s brain short-circuited. “But you don’t mind if I use it?”
“Why would I?”
“Because we’re…”
Friends. They were friends.
At the edge of the stage, their hands brushed. Luciana glanced down, studying her pinkie splayed alongside Aila’s. Aila stared in equal fascination and horror.
Tanya had asked if Aila had her eyes on someone other than Connor. For a breathless moment, she couldn’t look anywhere else: the perfect drape of Luciana’s hair, the curve of her lips, the spark of passion in her words.
Oh. No.
Aila was not prepared for this sort of ground-tilting revelation.
“I… uh… I’ll think about it,” she stammered. “The phoenixes and the show, that is. Maybe after breeding season, we can… um… work something out.”
Luciana squeezed her hand. Aila withheld a yelp.
“Don’t worry about it now,” Luciana said. “You’ll have your hands full this summer, once Rubra starts laying. She’s more important than anything else.”
She released their hands and pushed herself off the stage, a space between them that left Aila dizzy. While Luciana crossed the lawn to retrieve Ranbir, Aila stayed behind, warmth lingering on her hand.
Light-headed.
Aching.
Utterly screwed.
Aila had a hard time finishing work that day, thanks to the butterflies trying to chew her stomach from the inside out.
She’d had a crush on Luciana in college, but that was a silly little thing. Unobtainable, and therefore harmless. Aila could daydream all she wanted about sable hair and crimson lips, then go back to real, feasible things that didn’t require working up the courage to confess feelings for the single most intimidating woman she’d ever met.
But as Aila shifted the kelpie into her back exhibit for the night, all she could think of was the warmth of Luciana’s hand against hers. When she locked up the World of Birds aviary, she saw the spark in Luciana’s eyes as her griffin circled the stadium. As she stepped into the phoenix exhibit, Luciana’s words rolled through her head—talk of passion and purpose that left Aila warm inside.
All the things Connor had never made her feel.
This was—and not to be dramatic about it, or anything—possibly the most upsetting realization Aila had ever made in her life.
“All right, lovebirds,” she called out. “Time for bed.”
Carmesi flew into a tree beside her, but when Aila opened the entrance to their back aviary, he cocked his head and stared. Rubra remained on her nest platform, an annoyed puff to her cheeks as she stared down her keeper.
“The nest is coming together great. I agree. You can work on it some more tomorrow.”
Rubra didn’t budge. Aila groaned and hiked over.
Thoughts of slender hands danced through her head, the brush of Luciana’s fingers through her hair. She swatted them away like gnats.
A wooden ladder led up to the nest platform, narrow and angled to avoid disrupting the “immersive visual experience” of the patrons. Aila shut her eyes and forced herself up the creaking rungs, refusing to look at the ground below. Upon reaching the top, she braced her arms on the platform and gave Rubra a chiding look.
“Rubra. Honey. It’s time to go in for the night.”
Rubra sat in her nest of olive branches, pressed flat like a feather pancake. With a plea to skies and seas, Aila pushed on Rubra’s warm breast, trying to dislodge her. Rubra pressed back, refusing to budge. The bird could be adamant, but never like this.
Carmesi landed on the platform, greeting Aila with a nervous trill.
“Rubra?” Aila said in a hush.
She reached out again, gentler this time, slipping a hand underneath the furnace of Rubra’s belly. Rubra resisted, but Aila tilted the phoenix high enough to glimpse beneath her.
A single egg lay in the nest. Large enough to wrap in Aila’s palm, the shell a porcelain turquoise speckled in gold.
“ Rubra! ” Aila shouted.
Her exclamation echoed through the glass aviary, devolving into a peal of triumphant laughter that nearly toppled her off the ladder. She clutched the wooden rungs and drowned herself in mirth, basking in the perfection of Rubra in her nest and Carmesi perched proudly beside her.
Below, the door swung open as Tanya burst into the exhibit. “Aila?” she called out. “What are you yelling about? Everything good?”
“An egg!” Aila called at the top of her lungs. “An egg! An egg! An egg!”
One egg. Two eggs. Three eggs. Four.
One day at a time, the clutch grew, until Rubra sat upon a full nest of five turquoise eggs, palm-sized and glossy as porcelain, speckles heaviest at the wide end, then lightening as the shell came to a taper. Aila plucked each treasure from the nest to measure and weigh. She held them to a flashlight to check their contents. When she returned the eggs, Rubra settled back down, a little shimmy of breast, then tail to get her feathers laying right.
“Yes, that’s right, Director Rivera,” Aila said on the phone, excitement making her twirl in her chair until she neared dizziness. “Five eggs. And they all appear to be fertile.”
“This is fantastic news, Aila!” Rivera replied. “You’ve blown us away with your success thus far. Please, if you need anything at all from IMWS, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Of course, Director Rivera.”
When the call ended, Aila laughed and twirled until Tanya had to collect her off the floor. The remedy for such a grievous injury was ice cream, they agreed. They popped over to the Birds of a Feather Slushie Hut beside the aviaries, an open-air shop with thatched roof and mannequin parrots on the eaves. After acquiring cups of pineapple sorbet whipped into high swirls, they sat back at the observation window with a laptop open, watching the live chat explode with excitement over the successful nest.
Congratulations Rubra and Carmesi! What good birds!
“They are,” Aila agreed around a mouthful of ice cream, big enough to give her brain freeze. “The best birds in the zoo. Best birds in the world .”
And congrats to the zookeepers! They must be so thrilled.
“Damn straight,” Tanya said, boots propped on the counter. “I think we deserve a party. You think Director Hawthorn will throw us another party?”
What will the chick names be??? Ruby?
Flambé?
Burnatrix?
“Holy shit , Tanya!” Aila nearly fell out of her chair again. “Names! We have to name the chicks!”
Tanya laughed. “Relax, Ailes. We’ve got a whole month before hatching. Now’s the time to eat sorbet and be happy.”
Aila was. So happy, she could barely tear her eyes off the observation window, smiling like an idiot every time she spied Rubra fluffed on her nest. So happy, she bounced through the train ride home, then raced to her apartment to tell her animals the good news.
So happy, she almost stopped thinking about how warm Luciana’s hand felt against hers.
Almost.