Page 64 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
“No. Yes.” He leaned into Kip. “She’s a reaver.”
“Yeah, I figured.” A soft sigh, a softer voice. “It’s goingto be okay, Ash. Better than okay.”
Ash looked around the wrecked room and doubted him.
Kip took hold, framing Ash’s face. “Listen up. There arethings she hasn’t found the words for either. Tami’s not any old unregisteredreaver. She’s tree-kin.”
He blinked. “Like … like in the stories.”
“Auriel and then some. So instead of tearing apart your oldnest, maybe think about building a new one under her twin’s branches.”
“Joe’s not a tree.”
Kip kissed his forehead, called him an idiot, and patientlyexplained what was happening at Red Gate Farm.
“You’ve redecorated!”
Ash hadn’t even heard a car. Then again, his adoptive fatherdidn’t necessarily need one. Neither did Rook. The big wolf stood just insidethe door, surveying the room with eyebrows shot high.
“Tumbledown chic,” continued Cyril. “A trifle makeshift, butpossessing a charming innocence.”
Disentangling himself from Kip, Ash stood wavering in themiddle of his mess. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Their home was inshambles.
Cyril strutted along the edge of the room, eyes bright withinterest. “Not a bad start, considering what you had to work with. I approve ofthe flannel. Used the stuff myself last time I was nest-building. Naturally,there was significantly more padding. And an extravagance of silk. My skin issosensitive in this form.”
Ash’s chin trembled. An instant later, he was in Cyril’sarms.
“Nota bad start, you hear me? I know many a matedpair who would blush to confess the hasty rummage and rustle that christenedtheir nest. The flocks are teeming with impetuous souls.” Cyril pressed theircheeks together and began a soft litany of bird noises in the back of histhroat. Low and drawn out, like a coop filled with drowsy chickens. Theyweren’t really words, but they still translated to comfort and concern.
This was how it had always been.
By some strange confluence of events, Ash had been taken inby the head of the Sunfletch clan. Why a fussy pheasant with glorious plumagewanted anything to do with a drab little half-crow had never been explained …or questioned. Cyril was his first and fiercest advocate, with Rook as his second.The wolf’s devotion to a surly, somber winged boy had earned him his packnickname.
Today was proof that Ash hadn’t outgrown his need for hiskind-of father or his sort-of mother. He cast a pleading look at Rook.
The wolf waded through the tangle of textiles and liftedAsh. Mindful of his wings, he sat on the blanket-strewn floor. Slouching intothe lumpy slope of Ash’s striped mattress, Rook settled Ash just as he used to.Chest to chest, so Ash could lay down his head and listen to Rook’s heartbeat.
A low rumble started, as far from annoyance as a sound couldbe, and Ash went limp with relief, eyes tight-shut against the threat of tears.
Cyril knelt beside them. “I take it you’re in love?”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely. You’re clearly nesting.”
Ash rearranged the set of his wings. “All I did was wreckthe house.”
“You’re a bit of a late bloomer, but we can’t really judgeyour maturity by the usual markers. All it takes to initiate a mating dance isthe right lady. Or … gentleman?”
Across the room, Kip paled and waved his hands.
Rook asked, “Does she know?”
Even though confessing meant telling everything to theenclave’s second-biggest gossip, Ash rambled on. Rook stopped him from time totime, gently prying for more information. Cyril interrupted whenever hisbehavior showed some avian instinct at work.
“But you’re from a pheasant clan,” Ash muttered. “Wouldn’tit be different for crows?”
“When my black-winged son first entered the adolescentphases, I took the liberty of informing myself about pertinent rites andromantic inclinations.” Cyril caressed his cheek. “Tonight, I will expose youto every delicious detail of my findings.”
