Page 9 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

The hand was suddenly cupped around Rory protectively so that he couldn’t see the cat anymore.

“No,” the man said sternly. “The bird is not food. You can’t eat it, Nōwē.”

Rory peered a little to the side.

The cat sat down on the counter and licked her paws with supreme indifference, beginning to give herself a bath.

If Nōwē tried to eat Rory, it would not go well for her, and from the look of the cat, she was well aware of that fact.

Like Rory had said, cats were smart.

The man sounded like he was a little doubtful when he said, “Okay, just see that you behave.” He lowered his hand again. “I, uh, don’t think I have any food that’s good for birds, but I could at least get you some water before I let you go. That would be better than nothing, right? Right.”

Rory got to ride his shoulder over to the sink as he found a saucer and filled it with water, then set it on the counter.

Faced with the vessel filled with liquid, Rory couldn’t resist. If he’d run into the glass hard enough to knock himself out, he must have landed on the ground. He hopped in and started to have a bath, flicking the water everywhere in his enthusiasm.

There was a beat of silence, and then the man laughed, the warm sound echoing around the room.

“I didn’t think of that. Uh, sure, why don’t you have a bath and get cleaned up. And I’ll, uh, I’ll get another saucer so that you can have a drink.”

The man suited actions to words, and once Rory had finished with his bath, he hopped over to the nice, clean water and had a drink. He trilled his thanks to the man, who smiled down at him softly.

Then his brow furrowed. “I don’t want to put you outside at night if you’re damp. That’s a terrible idea.”

Rory ran hot and would be totally fine, but he wasn’t going to correct the man—because he couldn’t talk in this form and because he wanted to spend as much time with his mate as possible.

Instead, he flew over and landed back in the box, rubbing against the towel.

The man was nodding slowly. “I mean, that should be okay for the night, right? You’ll be able to dry, and then I can let you go in the morning. It’ll be light, you’ll be dry, and surely that’s safer. There’s probably fewer predators during the day, right?” He frowned. “Why don’t I know very much about bird predators? Nōwē, we’re going to have to add that to the list of things to investigate in the morning. Also, how to make glass safer for birds. We’re not having this happen again.”

The cat meowed, and Rory settled down in his box. The man looked at it for a long moment and then put two saucers in the box, one filled with water and the other “for him to do his business, not that I think birds can be potty trained, but better to try, right?”

Generally speaking, bird brains and bodies weren’t built to make use of waste disposal locations. They weren’t actually holding it so that they could poop on humans’ cars. Usually.

But Rory was far from your average bird, so he chirped his thanks. He didn’t often eat much in this form, but he could. He wasn’t completely governed by bird instincts, though, so if he needed to evacuate any waste, he’d use the plate and not soil his mate’s towel. He was pretty sure that wouldn’t be a great way to start a relationship.

The man smiled down at him. “Okay. Have a good night. We’ll sort this all out in the morning.”

Rory chirped happily.

The man put the lid back on the box, and Rory settled into the soft folds of fabric. Everything still felt slightly off-balance. Hitting the glass hadn’t actually killed him (he would have been reborn, and that was impossible to miss), but he thought it might have been a close thing.

Rory listened to the sounds of the man scooping up the cat and saying that he could sleep in the bedroom with him tonight. Rory smiled to himself. His mate was protecting him. Even if Rory didn’t need it, he appreciated the sentiment very much.

He squirmed around a bit until he was comfortable, then he closed his eyes and slept.

In the morning, Rory was still in a box—this was such a novel experience, he’d never lived in a box before!—but he was soon rescued by his mate, who lifted the lid and said good morning to him.

Rory flew up to sit on the man’s shoulder once more. He liked his warmth and proximity, and there was nowhere Rory would rather be. It was one of the many benefits of this form. He could tuck himself right up to the man’s neck and not get in the way. (He also liked observing people, he didn’t have to worry about money, and human concerns were further away. Sometimes he needed a break, and he spent a lot of time as a bird.)

His mate spent a couple of minutes petting him, and Rory peered around the room. He was in an apartment, from the look of it. There was an open-concept living room and kitchen, with shelves of books lining every wall. He caught a glimpse of a bedroom through an open door, and he assumed the other door was to the bathroom.

It wasn’t very big, but it looked comfortable and lived in.

The cat began to complain, and Rory’s mate got breakfast ready for both of them.

He sounded apologetic when he told Rory that he didn’t have any food for him.