“Is this your serial killer shed?” I ask, eyeing the sharp tools warily.
He snorts. “If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”
“Ha,” I deadpan.
After he opens the door and turns on the light, he steps inside. I step into the small shed expecting to see anything other than what I do.
Cages everywhere.
Not the creepy kind.
Bird cages.
They’re in various states of repair. Some are wooden and a ton of them are made of metal. A pile of metal scraps sits in a tub in one corner. The worktable has a small cage in the center surrounded by small tools that I’d never be able to name. I walk over to it and admire the detail of the cage. The metal around the bottom has been crimped and it resembles a skirt. A flower made of metal has been welded to the top. It’s industrial and modern but somehow cute.
“This is unexpected…” I pick up a metal shaving and immediately regret it when it cuts into my skin. “Ow.”
“Happens all the time. Hence why I wear gloves.” He shakes his head. “Don’t touch anything else.”
The tip of my finger beads with blood. Elias rummages in a box on a wall shelf and then faces me, holding up a bandage. I rest my hand on the worktable and watch him as he swipesthe cut with an alcohol pad. His hands are enormous, but he’s delicate as he wraps the Band-Aid around my fingertip.
There’s a gentle giant under this grumpy bear.
Eventually, maybe I’ll get to know him.
I certainly like him a whole lot better.
Chapter 12
Elias
Corbin: Not a doctor, man, but I’m sure it’s fine.
Igrunt as I read my little brother’s text. Frodo hollers at me for not getting his millet to him fast enough. Grumbling at the impatient bird, I stuff my phone in my pocket long enough for me to finish up my aviary chores. Once I’ve finished for the day, I step out of the small building and reply to Corbin.
Me: You’re a firefighter. You should know this.
Corbin: Take her to the doctor for a tetanus shot if you’re worried. Or do like Grandma Dot used to. Slap a Band-Aid on it and hope for the best.
I fight a grin because Grandma Dot nearly caused Corbin to lose his finger by doing just that. Turns out, he needed stitches and reconstructive surgery on his pinky when he accidentallyalmost cleaved it clear off while horsing around at The Budgie Café one summer. Mom was not happy that he’d been wrapped with gauze and told to “get out of the kitchen and go play.” She found us trying to scrape barnacles off the hull of a boat with sticks. Corbin’s gauze was soaked in blood and staining the dock.
Ahh, good times in Budgie Bay.
Me: Thanks for nothing.
Corbin: Glad to be of service.
I tuck my phone away and release a sigh. Nora snatched up the metal shaving before I could warn her and sliced the tip of her finger. I’m annoyed at how my stomach clenched with worry.
Why is that anyway?
You don’t like her, man.
I’m still debating that fact. Just when I feel convicted on one way, I end up going the other. It’s exhausting to be honest.
I head inside my place and hunt down Nora. She’s in the guest room, sitting on the bed, and looking at Goldie’s laptop. Her pretty face is twisted into one of despair. My heart rate quickens and I enter the room.
“Knock-knock,” I say in way of greeting. “Creeper alert.”
