Page 10 of Flight of the Omega

Every other day, Cerulean had already been in the pen by the time Jack was ready to saddle him up. Today, he’d made his way into one of the stables. He’d plonked down in the straw, wings spread, head bowed to the earth. His bill was open and his flanks were expanding with every rapid inhalation.

“What happened?” Jack cried. “Birdie, are you all right?”

Cerulean lifted his head, then tilted it down again, emitting a long, sad trill.

Jack felt sick. Just when they’d been making so much progress. Now Cerulean was sick, just like his Rocket had gotten sick all those years ago.

Your fault, your fault, his brain accused viciously.Just like Rocket. You let him get sick, and now he’s going to die, just like Rocket, because you didn’t take care of him, you let him get cold …

“Oh, birdie,” Jack said, “hang on, I’m gonna call the vet.”

Cerulean didn’t look like he was going anywhere too fast, if Jack was honest. He didn’t even lift his head when Jack darted to the phone. He was still in the same position when Jack returned.

He dropped to his knees in front of the bird, looping his arms around his neck. He stroked those downy blue feathers, murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” over and over until his lips felt numb. He couldn’t let Cerulean die. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to keep images of Rocket’s last days from replaying in his mind. It hadn’t been his fault; there had been nothing he could do for his friend …

Cerulean trilled again, and Jack looked skyward, hoping, praying for the doctor to arrive soon so she could tell him what was wrong with this birdie. Cerulean had been perfectly hale last night, so why …

Jack couldn’t imagine what he’d done wrong. There was fresh hay and clean bedding. Nothing in the stables was moldy, and they mucked everything out on the regular. They fed only the best food, clean water, and all the flock had their shots.

Cerulean crowed again, then leaned his head against Jack’s shoulder. Good golly, he was breathing much too quickly. He felt warm, much warmer than any of the birds usually did.

Mentally, Jack ran through a list of conditions that could make a bird run a fever—and there were lots. Oh, if the doctor didn’t get here soon, poor Cerulean might not make it.

Cerulean pushed away from him just as suddenly. The bird held his head up independently; he peered deep into Jack’s eyes for a second or two. Then, with a great ruffle of feathers, he got back to his feet. He squeezed by Jack into the hallway. There he paused, waiting.

Jack frowned. “You … wanna show me something?”

The bird glanced away. He spread his wings, then resettled them. Then he looked back at Jack and nodded.

Jack’s stomach bottomed out. Had … that bird really just …

Maybehewas the one running the fever.

Wordlessly, he rose to his feet. He knew his boots scuffed the boards of the barn floor, yet he felt like he was floating as he followed Cerulean down the hall, into the bright light of the yard.

He followed Cerulean across the dusty yard, back to the house. The bird paused to peck at the door, then watched as it swung open. Cerulean looked back at him, blinking those golden eyes, and Jack’s stomach twisted again, now with faint recognition. Those eyes seemed familiar, and he wondered if he’d been missing something.

Cerulean broke eye contact and paraded down the hall, like he knew the place, like he regularly strutted around in the abode of humans. He struggled a little on the stairs, his claws skittering across the wood. He had to flap his wings a good deal, but he made it up to the landing, then tucked his wings in and waited for Jack to ascend with him.

Jack frowned as he realized the bird was leading him down the hall to the primary suite, the one with the double oak doors at the very end of the hallway. The one that had the balcony overlooking the yard.

The one where that damn brat JP had been staying for the last month or so.

Why the hell would Cerulean be taking him to see JP? That didn’t make any sense, especially not if Cerulean wassick. What the heck did JP have to do with any of this?

A thought dawned on him as they neared the closed doors. Cerulean paused, turning back to him. Jack looked at the bird, then at the door. He looked back at Cerulean. “I get it now,” he said, slowly opening the door, swinging it wide open. “I understand.”

Cerulean strutted by him into the room, which sure looked like a bird had lived in it.

“You came with JP,” Jack said, stepping into the room, scanning it for said bratty human. “Mr. Crane sent his boy down here to learn to ride, and you’re the mount.”

The room was deserted except for them. JP was nowhere to be seen. He let his gaze fall back to the beautiful blue bird, who looked at him with a mixture of disgust and exasperation. Then he unfurled his wings, tossing his head back and cawing loudly as a whirlwind of feathers seemed to erupt around him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he came face to face with JP, who was standing where Cerulean had been just a second before. “No, you oaf,” JP snarled, grabbing Jack by the front of his shirt, “IamJP.”