“Disco,” I breathe.
The bird screams the second he spots me. Loud. Furious. Betrayed. He flaps once like he’s trying to launch himself through the bars.
“¡Mami!” he yells, clear as day, and then immediately follows it with, “¡¿Qué pasó?!” like he’s running an interrogation.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, rushing forward. “Disco, hey, hey.”
Magic sets the cage carefully on the small table by the bed. Disco swivels his head back and forth like a tiny surveillance camera, crest up, eyes sharp, chattering and screeching at the same time.
“¡Dale! ¡Dale!” he yells, like he’s hyping himself up for violence.
Magic pauses, eyebrows lifting. “He always talk like that?”
“He talks a lot,” I say, already sliding my fingers through the bars. “He’s… opinionated.”
Disco hops toward my hand immediately and nips my knuckle. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make sure I’m real. Then he leans his head into my fingers like a diva accepting worship.
“¡Besito!” he demands.
I laugh, and the sound surprises me with how normal it feels. “You want a kiss now?”
“¡Besito, mami!” he screams again, then adds, “¡No llores!” like he knows things I never said out loud.
My throat tightens. I press my forehead to the cool metal bars for a second, breathing him in. Like bird seed and home.
Magic watches, quiet amusement in his eyes.
“He good?” he asks.
“He’s better than most men,” I say, voice rough.
Magic lets out a short laugh under his breath. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He turns and heads for the door, pausing just long enough to give Disco one last skeptical glance. Disco freezes, stares him down, crest high.
“¡Policía!” Disco squawks.
Magic barks a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Bird’s got attitude.”
“He lives with me,” I say.
“Fair point.” Magic looks at me, the humor fading into something steadier. “Prez said you need anything, you tell Dusty. And you don’t open the front for nobody but me or him. Comprende?”
I nod, even though my stomach knots at the word need.
Magic leaves. The door closes behind him and the room falls quiet again, quiet the way it can only be in a building that still smells like last night’s party and tomorrow’s violence.
Disco tilts his head sideways and chirps at me like he’s asking what the hell happened. His crest lowers a little, then pops up again like he remembered he’s dramatic.
“You’re okay,” I murmur.
My fingers scratch gently along his neck feathers and he leans into the touch like he’s the most important thing in the world.
“I’m okay.”
The words feel untrue the moment they leave my mouth.
The back room is different in daylight.
