The Sunbird Cage

Charo Hendrix awoke with a groan. She slammed down on her blaring alarm clock—a whining, syncopated melody. Neon light poured through polyester curtains, painting the cramped bedroom in fluorescent shadows.

Charo sighed. Time to rise from the ashes.

“Beepo,” she said, still tangled in her sheets. “Start coffee, please, and thanks.”

“Of course, ma’am,” said the apartment AI in a posh tenor—a new setting she downloaded from the manufacturer. From bed, Charo could hear the coffee machine grind to life in the kitchen—which made sense because her kitchen was also her bedroom.

She turned toward the battered clock on her nightstand; it blinked 4:37AM in red and green numbers.

Holiday shifts were the worst.

BUZZ, BUZZZZ.

“What the—Beepo, who the hell is it?”

“It appears to be a delivery.”

Dazed, Charo stumbled over to her front door and pushed the Live Feed button on the buzzer screen. It pulled up a grainy image of a man in a brown uniform standing in the dim hallway. The image stuttered, and then he vanished. All that remained was an enormous box sitting on her doormat.

Strange, she thought.

“I checked your recent purchases,” Beepo said. “There were no parcels expected for today, ma’am. Shall I have maintenance dispose of it?”

Charo still felt fuzzy. A package? Her eyes focused on today’s date as it scrolled across the top of the glowing buzzer screen.

December 25th…

She sucked her teeth. It wasn’t just Christmas, and worse, it was also her birthday—and everyone knew Charo hated presents. Which meant… the box was probably another attempt by her father to “reconnect.” Couldn’t he just send an e-mail, something she could spam away without physically having to deal with it? Well, why start being any less of a burden now, she thought. Not like it matters to him.

“That’s fine, Beepo,” she said. “Have maintenance torch it.”

Coffee now in hand, Charo tossed a couple of unfrosted passion fruit pop-tarts in her antique toaster and waited at her tiny kitchen table. She turned and gazed tiredly into the full-length mirror hanging across her efficiency apartment.

She frowned. The gray highlights in her hair were thickening, spreading further through her dark curls. She looked cute in her over-sized t-shirt with a spray paint design of thug Tweety, though, but not outside cute. Mario, the maintenance man, said she looked “dope” for 32—uh, 33 now, she supposed.

Mario, my sweet little himbo, she thought with a smile. It’s all downhill from here.

“Terribly sorry, ma’am,” Beepo said, breaking the silence. “It appears there is an organic life-form within the box. I am unable to comply with your disposal request, as it is against building maintenance regulations.”

Charo was wide awake now. “There’s something alive, in the box? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m afraid not,” Beepo confirmed. “Do remember, ma’am, there are no pets allowed at the Algonquin Towers. I can provide contact information for a shelter if you’d like?”

“Shelter! I can’t—”

Her breakfast sprang out of the antique toaster with a metallic, kerchunk. Then another alarm blared to life, this one from her desk.

Shit.

She had five minutes until her shift started. “Fine. This is fine. I’m not keeping it, whatever it is. I’ll bring it inside until I’m off work, then I’ll take it to a shelter. No sense leaving a hypothetical puppy on my front door all day. Beepo, start-up my terminal.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Charo opened her apartment door, looked down, and saw trails of white smoke rising from holes lining the sides of the giant box.

Then it burst into flames.

###

Zebadiah Hendricks removed the brown cap and jacket he borrowed from the unconscious delivery driver, who was bound and gagged in the back of the also borrowed delivery truck. The streets in this part of town were mercifully dead at this hour, despite the massive neon billboard lighting up the block like a goddamn flare. At least it’d help him spot any of Rakuul’s goons, if—when they came crawling out from the shadows.

He tossed the hat and uniform over his shoulder, into the back of the truck, and then looked up at the Algonquin Towers. “I’m sorry, mija,” he whispered to himself. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

A muffled scream came from the back of the truck.

Zebadiah sighed and turned in his seat. “Come now, Omar. I thought we went over this. I’ll return your truck once we’re outside the city. You know, there’s really no need—”

Omar sat straight up, eyes wide, and without warning, his face burst into hellfire. Black flames engulfed his head, but he made no motion or protest. He just sat there as his skin peeled off into dust, then his flesh, leaving only a black flaming skull.

His jaw moved.

DID YOU THINK YOU COULD IT HIDE FROM US? Not-Omar asked. He spoke with several voices stacked over another. DID YOU THINK WE WOULD NOT FIND IT?

Zebadiah grinned. “Hello Rakuul. Neat trick. Tack on another innocent life I’m going to collect straight from your ass.”

INNOCENT… YES. FOR YOU ARE GUILTY. BY REFUSING THE INEVITABLE, YOU CONSIGNED THIS MAN TO DEATH, JUST LIKE THE OTHERS, YES?

“Yup, I’m going to scoop a little lump of ass-meat from your behind for everyone you’ve killed, you dig? Until I hit the bone. But, don’t worry. I’ve got something for that. Wanna guess what it is?”

WHERE IS THE SUNBIRD?

“It’s a spoon,” he said. “I’m going to do it with a spoon.”

ENOUGH, FOOL! Not-Omar yelled. YOUR PITIFUL WORLD WILL BURN IN THE FLAMES OF SHOG’KUKUI, AS IT HAS BEFORE, AND AS IT WILL AGAIN UNTIL ALL THAT REMAINS IS ASH AND DESPAIR.

“I gotta admit, you’d need a pretty tough spoon to scoop out ass bone. That’s why I bought stainless-steel kitchenware from Y-mart. Hell of a deal. I started sharpening it—”

YES, BLATHER ON, AS YOU ALWAYS DO, FOOL. IT GAVE US PLENTY OF TIME TO FIND YOUR SPAWN—AND OUR PRIZE.

“I’ve got a pretty strong wrist—” Zebadiah froze. “That’s not possible. You can’t sense her, she’s protected.”

THINGS HAVE… CHANGED. WE WONDER, DOES SHE EVEN KNOW WHAT KIND OF BURDEN HER WRETCHED FATHER HAS LEFT UPON HER? WELL, NO MATTER. SHE’S ABOUT TO FIND OUT FOR HERSELF.

Then Omar exploded.

###

There was an art to productive customer service calls. Too forceful, and you’d end up disconnected after a generous hold. Too soft, and you’d end up disconnected after an equally generous hold. No, you had to be just the right amount of sufferable to get what you want from those frayed and weary humans at the other end of the line.

Charo thought about this, and how she should be on the phone, dealing with jack-offs who had the gall to complain about disposable razors on Christmas day. Instead, she was blasting a flaming birthday present from her deadbeat father with a fire extinguisher. First thing in the morning.

“Beepo!” she yelled over her blasts. “Call the fire department!”

“Of course, ma’am,” he said from inside the apartment.

As the extinguisher dust cleared, a scorched metal birdcage appeared. Inside was a tiny red chick with two golden feathers trailing from its head, caked in white powder, sitting on a pile of ashes. It looked up at Charo and cooed.

Something warm fluttered inside her chest, like flaming butterflies. “What—what the hell are you?” she asked the bird.

It chirped, then began preening its wings.

Footsteps clomped from down the hall. Mario, the muscle-bound maintenance man, came huffing, fire extinguisher under his arm. His free hand pinned down his thick gold chain as he ran.

“Charo!” he yelled, reaching her front door. “What happen, ma? Flaming dog shit?”

“You could say that,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going, Mario, but I got this package I didn’t order, and then it just burst into flames. I thought the sprinklers would come on but when they didn’t, so I hit it with my fire extinguisher. I had Beepo call the firefighters.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No sprinklers? That’s a problem. No good. They’re supposed to come on, automatic-like.”

“Yeah, well, didn’t happen. Can you get rid of this, I’m late for work and I don’t need this today, Mario. I really don’t.”

“No problem, ma. I gotchu. Oh, I love the shirt—”

A blade pierced out through Mario’s chest. He looked down in shock, then coughed up a mouthful of blood. He fell forward, at Charo’s feet, with a heavy thud.

The bird squawked, flapping angrily in its cage.

Standing in Mario’s place was a young woman, with a black bowl cut and neon-purple eyes. She wore a black trench-coat over a black outfit and even wore black leather gloves. She wiped the blood from her wicked-looking machete with a white cloth and stuffed it in her coat pocket.

Charo couldn’t move. “Ma-Mario…”

“We will take the bird,” the bowl-cut said in several voices stacked together. “And your life, spawnling.”

What was happening? Mario was dead? She had to go to work. She had to sign on. She was late. But Mario is dead. She shivered, jabbering to herself.

The bowl cut raised his jagged machete over her head.

“Thank you, for making this easy.”

“DOMINUS LUMEN!” a voice yelled.

Light erupted from the bowl cut’s eyes, mouth, and ears. She howled, a chorus of pain screeched through the hallway. Bowl cut dropped to her knees, machete clattering on the concrete floor, and clawed at her head.

“Mija, inside,” a soot-covered man said. He picked up the birdcage, took Charo by the arm, and pulled her inside the apartment, closing the door behind them.

“Unidentified guest, please identify yourself,” Beepo said in a stern tone. “Or, I shall call the authorities.”

“My name is Zebadiah Hendricks,” the man said. “And I’m Charo’s—”

“Dad?”

###

Charo munched on her pop-tart as she stared at the Sunbird, the cage sitting on the kitchen table. Her father searched through cabinets and drawers. Beepo alerted everyone that the authorities were on their way, though this gave her no solace. Mario was dead.

“Salt, mija,” Zebadiah said. “I need salt. Also, any weapons would be fantastic!”

“Why are you here?” Charo asked.

“To drop off the Sunbird,” he said. “And lure those goons away from here while you bonded with it, which, I see, was successful.”

The Sunbird cooed in agreement.

She stared at the bird, eyebrow raised. “Uh, why did I just understand it?”

“Because you bonded with it,” he said. “When the Sunbird dies and resurrects, it bonds with the first human it sees. Here, that was you. Ah-hah! Salt.”

Zebadiah took the yellow container over to the front door and drew a line along the bottom. He closed his eyes and muttered too low for Charo to understand. Then, he clapped his hands and the line of salt glowed for a moment, before disappearing.

“What was that?” she asked, frantic. “What did you do? Are you a witch? I can’t with this magic shit right now, I’m supposed to be working!”

“Mija, I’m so sorry,” he said, standing and facing her. “I didn’t have a choice. Things are happening. Things that are crazy, and big, and honestly, I don’t even know how to explain. I didn’t want this to happen. You gotta believe me when I say that because no one deserves this. But I had to. Just remember, I had to.”

Then he turned to the door.

“Wait!” she yelled. “You fucking WAIT!”

He froze.

“You don’t come here on MY birthday and bring this ruckus just to turn and walk out of my life, AGAIN.”

“Charo. Please… calm down.”

“What? Are you crazy? Are you telling me to CALM DOWN?”

Zebadiah put his hands up towards her in a defensive gesture and approached slowly.

She felt hot. Alive. Like she could breathe for the first time like she could run a marathon and then fuck for a week. She looked down at her hands and realized she was—

“I’m on fire!” she yelled. “What the HELL did you do to me?”

Golden flames covered Charo from head to toe, though her shirt was undamaged, and she felt no pain, just a rush of… adrenaline?

“Charo,” he said in an even voice. “You have got to calm down. You’re bonded with the Sunbird. The fire is coming from you. It won’t burn you. Just breath, you gotta calm down. Just breath.”

Charro wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath, held it for a ten count, then exhaled. Then she took five quick breaths. She repeated the process, adding a sharp breath on each iteration until she reached ten. The company provided breathing techniques that worked, in that they hacked the body’s stress response to being talked down to by old racist jack-holes. But it wasn’t enough.

“Beepo, soft lights, and instrumental K-pop remixes!”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The lights dimmed and gently shifted between primary colors. A bubbly melody with a boot-and-cats beat popped to life over the apartment’s speakers and Charro’s shoulder’s started moving. She let out an eleventh breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and—

She danced.

She danced hard, all upper body—as if she were posting her performance on SnipSnap. A layer of sweat covered her forehead. She kept dancing. Light strobed from orange to violet, and aqua, painting her shifting form in a K-pop rainbow. When the song changed over, Charo really let loose. She was all warmed up, now. She danced because it was free because it felt good because it reminded her...

She opened her eyes.

Zebadiah smiled. “Keep going, mija. It’s working.”

She looked down and saw the last of the golden flames flickering out of existence. “Party’s over, Beepo.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the AI said. The lights returned to fluorescent normal, and the music faded away. The Sunbird continued to chirp along to the melody from its cage.

“I told your mom it was the right move to take you to dance classes,” Zebadiah said.

“Don’t. Just, don’t,” Charo said. “Why are you here?”

“I came to deliver the Sunbird so you could bond with it. Demons want it, and if they get it, they’re going to set the world on fire, literally. As long as the Sunbird bonds with someone, they can’t use it. So now, it’s bonded to you. Okay? We gotta move—”

“HEY, that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here, specifically? Why me? Why can’t you just bind this thing to yourself? Why are you here?”

Zebadiah sighed. “Because I’m dying.”

Charo stared at her father. “What?”

“I’m dying. The Sunbird won’t bond with those that death has claimed. And stage 4 pancreatic cancer has made a pretty legitimate claim to my life. I’m not strong enough to make the bond anymore, and I haven’t for quite some time.”

She sat at her kitchen table, numb.

“Because you’re my daughter,” he continued, “you can bond with the Sunbird. Something to do with our lineage, I couldn’t find anything concrete. I was too busy keeping those black-coats off my trail for the past thirty years.”

“Thirty years? So, you left because—”

“Yeah. You’re probably too young to remember this, but one day your grandma showed up, out of the blue, after years without contact, with an old bird in a cage. I left that day.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither did I, mija. I still don’t. When I first learned magic, however, I came back without you or your mother knowing, and placed a spell of undetectability on you. No magical, divine, or demonic entities could find you. And yet, they showed up here… I fucked up, mija. Of course, I did.” He chuckled. “I thought I could end the war.”

“YES, AND YET YOU FAILED, MORTAL,” a stack of voices said from the apartment speakers. “ALL BECAUSE YOU FAILED TO ADAPT, TO EVOLVE.”

“Rakuul?” Zebadiah said. “You hacked the apartment AI? Son-of-a-bitch, of course!”

“Beepo, why is your voice like that?” Charo asked.

“That’s not your AI,” Zebadiah said. “That’s Xarius Rakuul, a demon-possessed immortal and nothing but a little bitch.” Zebadiah looked up to the speakers. “You hear that, Rakuul? A little. Bitch.”

“WORDS ARE MEANINGLESS,” said Rakuul.

“ENOUGH!” Charo screamed. “You,” she pointed to Zebadiah, “grab the bird-cage.” She pointed up to her speakers. “And you, I don’t know who you are, but you have fucked up my birthday, my Christmas, and my over-time. I’m going to find you and I’m going to shove my flaming fist right up your ass, you HEAR ME?”

Silence filled the efficiency apartment.

The Sunbird chirped in approval.