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‘Not sure. Mist?’

Too panicked to tell. Maybe. It is a shame Rayenne is not here. She has far more patience with featherbrains.

Aiden grabbed a biscuit off a plate. ‘I don’t know if you can understand me but we’re friends, OK? We’re not going to hurt you. We want to help. Here.’ He crumbled some of the biscuit as he approached her, moving slowly and speaking in a calm, quiet tone. He sent soothing vibes to her – similar to those he used in reiki. He didn’t know if it would help, but was pretty sure it wouldn’t hurt. Unlike the very sharp beak.

The bright red eyes watched him closely as he brought the biscuit up to his mouth and took a bite. ‘Yum, yum. See? Nice food. Do you want a nice treat? Do demon birds like cookies?’

‘Don’t call her that!’

The bird cackled softly.

‘Maybe she likes it,’ Aiden argued. ‘Red eyes, resurrection from apparently being dead. Round here, is it impossible?’

It is not, Mist replied.

‘Stop it, you. You know the shop’s protected from things like that!’ Ophelia scolded.

He did carry her in. That could be considered invitation enough to circumvent the usual rules.

Aiden crept towards the bird, trying not to worry about Mist’s words, but the bird took off again, panicking and veering across the room, only to crash on the floor.

Mist pounced and Ophelia yelped. ‘Don’t hurt it!’

The cat shot her a look and mewled plaintively. Who do you think you are talking to?

‘Right, sorry. I just… Sorry. Aiden, could you help please?’

‘Help how?’

‘Get the bird under control.’

Mist flinched as the bird pecked at her and growled a warning that set Aiden’s teeth on edge. A few seconds of scuffle, and the cat had the bird pinned, giving Aiden the chance to throw Ophelia’s scarf over its head. The bird squawked – loud, ugly sounds of complaint – and thrashed against the colourful fabric prison while Aiden struggled to get it under control, pinning its wings while avoiding the vicious beak and sharp claws. When he’d finally managed it, Ophelia carefully uncovered the bird’s head so they could get a better look at their newest shop visitor.

It screamed again, snapping and slashing, and Ophelia moved quicker than he’d ever seen, grabbing the beak between her finger and thumb. ‘No, we can’t let you do that. I know you’re scared and in pain – and probably in shock – but I’m not putting up with biting. I’m going to let you go now, and you’re going to do your best to stay calm, and we’re going to do our best to look after you, OK?’

To Aiden’s amazement the bird stayed calm as Ophelia slowly released it. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Rayenne’s taught me a trick or two over the years.’ She shrugged and focussed on the feathered visitor. ‘Good girl. We know you’ve had a bad day – you’ve been hurt and woke up here with strangers, wrapped up like a brightly coloured burrito. But we’re going to work together to get you better and figure out why you’re here.’

‘What do you mean, why?’ Aiden hissed. ‘She crashed, that’s all.’

How long have you worked here? Mist tutted at Aiden. You know full well that things happening in Glimmers usually have a reason.

‘And why didn’t you help sooner?’ Ophelia looked at the cat.

I wanted to give her a chance to be sensible. Should have known better from a featherbrain!

It took them nearly an hour – with lots of breaks to let the bird calm down, check the instructions from the rescue centre, and decode Mia’s confused messages as she tried to translate human wound care into bird care while dealing with her own featherless patients.

‘Now what?’ Aiden asked as he threw the last of the used tissues and gauze into the bin, and grimaced at the painful scratches over his fingers.

‘I’m starting to regret not driving it to the rescue centre,’ Ophelia complained as Aiden sprayed stinging disinfectant on a bite from when whatever spell she’d worked on the bird had slipped. Mist sniffed at her fingers and sneezed, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

‘You said you didn’t want her to be that far from her home and friends, after the rescue centre was happy to give you instructions over the phone. Remember?’

‘That was before I realised what an ungrateful wretch she was going to be!’ Ophelia glared at the scarf-covered basket that was – after the last hour – eerily quiet. ‘Do you think she’s OK?’

‘Pretty sure. Certainly feisty.’