Phoenixfire
another cozy, slice of life, sapphic short
Phoenixfire
A Short Story by Fiona Haley Hansen
The key to surviving early mornings in the watchtower, Aurora Owens knew, was coffee. Mugs upon mugs of it. Her favorite one, a decade-old relic left over by the last lookout that read Old Belvedere, Property of the National Forestry Alliance est. 181 SC, had as many brown bands inside as a sequoya had age rings. The vinyl logo–the tower and a pair of trees–had long since faded into a vague form that flaked against Rory’s palm more by the day.
In the forests of nearby Three Rivers and Coso Meadows, lookouts only stayed in their respective towers for a season at a time. But here in Blue Ridge, the most forested region in Continental Greyveil, lookouts stayed year-round. The problem with a phoenix-infested wood was that the whole place could catch at any moment. Masses of magic soaked up by the trees drew the phoenixes. But of course, magic being highly flammable… not exactly a match made in heaven. It was the worst during mating season, and never a low enough risk to leave the tower unoccupied. Luckily for Rory, that meant she had a rent-free (albeit 14x14) home for as long as she wanted, snow or shine.
It was her sixth year in Old Belvedere, and she didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. After nearly a decade of lab coats and beakers and peer reviews and obnoxious TAs, she had earned this peace. It wasn’t the shiny research job she’d always aimed for, but hey, maybe it was even better. It turned out the best cure for burnout was a life of wildfires, ironic as it was.
Rory looked around at her iron-posted bed, stove, and desk surrounded by windows on all sides, savoring the hum of her mini fridge. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. She was proud to be a lookout. Sure, it wasn’t the hardest job to get–or to keep. Not everyone wanted to live in constant danger and claustrophobic seclusion. Still, Rory liked feeling like Blue Ridge was her domain.
And she did a good enough job of it. When a gathering of sequoyas to the north had ignited last summer after a hiker cared a territorial mother phoenix, Rory had radioed in within seconds. A spark that could have burned the miles of forest to a blackened crisp had, in the end, only taken a half dozen trees, thanks to her quick reaction–and that of the fire suppression crew.
It was all about readiness. And focus.
Exactly what two things she employed now as she gazed at the 360° expanse of emerald beneath the tower. All clear. No phoenixes in flight or sight, all having burrowed in or headed to cozier thickets for the coming Winter, only a few naughty ravens that Rory was now far too familiar with. No flames, only the cool, rolling mists of a Blue Ridge Autumn. She sighed with contentment and sent in her report for the hour before taking a sip of bitter liquid.
Fire risk: low.
Now, it was time to relax. She kicked back her feet onto the desk and turned the radio to her favorite station. Within seconds, it leaked smooth jazz. The faint swaying of the 25-foot steel tower whirred her into a familiar cal–
Static replaced the sultry tunes. Through the haze, a voice. Rory jolted upright.
The voice was indistinguishable at first, then slowly cleared up like a late spring storm. “Owens, you there?”
“Damn it,” Rory muttered under her breath. It had been months since she’d heard that raspy voice, and she’d placed an overly hopeful bet that she wouldn’t have to hear it again. Zero points for Aurora Owens. She changed the station with an easy twist. “I’m here, Covey. Can you hear me?”
Quiet. Hallelujah. Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe Rory had imagined i–
“Loud and clear.”
Rory cursed under her breath.
“What was that, Owens?”
Okay, so maybe not so under her breath. “Nothing. I mean, what can I do you for?” Rory slapped her palm to her forehead. Six years alone in a watchtower, save for annual holiday trips to her moms’ place, hadn’t exactly done wonders for her already questionable social skills. The first to go had been her small talk abilities.
Then again, it wasn’t as if Covey had ever been a great conversationalist herself.
Carter Covey. Bane of Rory’s existence since she was a twenty-two-year-old researcher and Covey was the aforementioned obnoxious, twenty-three-year-old TA. Despite their slim age gap, Covey had always treated Rory like she was years younger–and eons stupider. She never missed a chance to point her out on her worst days, to grade her proposals extra hard. Since then, Carter Covey had graduated to being a still-obnoxious but (somehow) highly lauded Fire Ecologist at the Alliance Research and Monitoring Center in Camp Nelson, about an hour’s drive from the easternmost edge of Blue Ridge. She’d radioed the watchtower a handful of times, occasionally for real reasons, but mostly to brag about her latest award or promotion.
Rory didn’t know which was worse.
“Yeah, uh… we’ve got a problem over here in Nelson.” Each word was accented with a brief haze of static. After Covey finished speaking, a flurry of sounds erupted. The blaring of a siren. Screams. Shouts. Was that… squawking?
“Covey? You still there?”
“Still here,” the Fire Ecologist replied through heavy breaths.
“What’s going on?” asked Rory.
“Um…” Covey hesitated. Carter Covey never hesitated. “Some guy in Radars wore a new cologne, Cascadian Seqouya, or some stupid shit. And he apparently put on enough that some phoenixes caught a whiff and snuck in through the vents, and now… well, you can imagine.”
Squawks quickly confirmed her claim.
Indeed, Rory could imagine the chaos. Papers flying, flames everywhere, sprinklers pouring down on priceless equipment, phoenixes flapping their wings and defecating on fancy equipment. Covey with said defecation staining her perfectly straight, dark, now-soaking locks.
If she were honest, Rory didn’t quite hate the idea. “And you called me because…”
Now it was Covey’s turn to utter a low (but still audible) curse. “I… I need your help.” She said it like she was spitting out poison, like her very body, her tongue rejected the words.
Carter Covey asking Aurora Owens for help? Rory rechecked her windows and clock to make sure she hadn’t unintentionally entered an alternate dimension. Forest: green. Skies: gray. Time: 8:14 AM. Huh.
When Rory didn’t answer, too awe-stricken to conjure up any decipherable words, Covey continued. “Remember that time in Dr. Bherunda’s lab?” Rory already knew what she meant, but Covey told the story anyway. She seemed to be on the move, apparent in her quick breaths and her boots on old carpet. “Oscar used the wrong feather for his flame test – mountain phoenix instead of Cascadian – and his hair caught on fire. You were the first to get him into the safety shower. You made sure the lab didn’t burn down. I… dammit, I need you to do that now. Not literally… I just…” Covey faltered. A crash (one sounding very close by) reverberated. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Dammit, Covey,” said Rory, not under her breath at all. “Fine.”
The woman on the other line audibly exhaled.
Curse me for being so goddamn good under pressure, Rory thought to herself.
~
It was as easy as calling in for a wildfire, stopping a whole million-dollar laboratory from bursting into chemical flames.
All Rory had to do was walk Covey through every step. Because, of course, in one of Greyveil’s best scientific facilities, there wasn’t a single person who knew what to do.
First: open every emergency exit. Give every employee an easy place to leave, slowly and safely. Something about the sirens and sprinklers and, yes, fire, got all those adults acting like second-graders during a fire alarm.
Second: find the quote-unquote stupid guy from Radars and get him as far from the facility as possible. Ideally, away from any schools or homes. What they didn’t need was to add untrained civilians into the mix, not that these world-class researchers were doing much better.
Third: usher all the phoenixes into the lab that Rory thankfully knew was currently working on hybridizing phoenix-attracting sequoyas with flame-proof bluewoods from further north (she liked to keep an eye on relevant research–her little way of not forgetting her old lab-coated dreams). It was a win-win: the phoenixes would be drawn to the smell of their favorite trees, but they wouldn’t set them alight in all the chaos.
Once they were all safely inside, Rory instructed Covey to close the door. Ten minutes later, the panicked squawking on the other end of the line had finally died out.
Rory listened carefully as Covey opened the door and peeked inside. Exhaled, deeper than before. “All clear. They’re… relaxed.” A moment and a breath. “You did it, Owens.”
All that remained was to wait for the real specialists, the Phoenix Keepers from the Nelson Rescue and Rehabilitation Sanctuary, to come in and trap the birds. They’d be released after a night of rest and some proper nutrition, at which point they’d continue their journey to warmer woods.
The watchtower was glazed in twilit blue when Rory’s radio sounded again. In the middle of Blue Ridge, there was no need for curtains, so the velvet abyss of the starry sky blanketed her in cool dark.
“Hey, Owens? You still there?”
Rory smiled a small grin to herself, thankful for their audio-only mode of communication, before schooling her voice into nonchalance. “Yeah, I’m here, Covey. Loud and clear.”
“Owens?”
“Yeah, Covey?”
Static.
“Thanks. For earlier. You’re not half-bad, you know.”
Rory laughed. “Geez, thanks. You’re not half-bad yourself, Carter.”
“Carter.”
“Uh-huh, that’s what I said.” Rory sipped her liquid refreshment, her old mug now full of decaf chai rather than her usual black coffee.
“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”
“Really? Huh.” Rory settled into her creaky bed, pulling the rainbow quilt, last year’s holiday gift from her moms, up over her legs. “Goodnight… Carter.”
“Goodnight, Aurora.”
Aurora Owens fell asleep to the quiet of her forest and to the echo of Carter Covey’s voice.
~
Rory thought it smelled odd. For as wooded as Camp Nelson was, it lacked the overwhelming, smoky-sweet scent of Blue Ridge’s sequoyas.
It was winter now, and snow canopied the surrounding trees and the roof of the Alliance Research and Monitoring Center. Rory skidded on thin ice toward the door, which was being held open just a few seconds too long by a student researcher, and stepped in after him.
The warmth was a welcome respite from the bitter cold outdoors, Rory pulling off her beanie and gloves. A flickering sign inside the overlarge room filled with tables and vinyl chairs read Fire Brews.
“Owens.” The voice sounded smooth and sultry as smoke. It was familiar, even more so than it had been only three months ago – the day the Center almost burned to a crisp.
Rory spun to the tall stretch of a woman and smiled. “Hey, I thought we’d finally settled on Rory.”
“Fine. Rory.” The last word was whispered like a secret shared only between the two of them. Rory’s cheeks immediately lit up, as if Carter Covey’s mere presence possessed the heat of a raging fire.
It was the first time they’d seen each other in years, though they’d spoken many times since the Great Phoenixfire Catastrophe. First over the radio, then migrating to phone calls when the signal was good enough.
Rory didn’t quite know what to do. It seemed Carter didn’t either, outstretching her long arms for a hug and then opting for a perfunctory handshake. Rory laughed and accepted it. Carter wasn’t usually this nervous – or nervous at all, come to think of it. It was a rather welcome change.
“So, uh… What’s good here?” Rory asked, hoping to save the woman now scratching the back of her neck from embarrassment.
Carter sighed in relief at the change in focus. “Anything but the salad. Got that my first day on the job and then barfed all over my boss’s desk two hours later.”
Rory scrunched her nose in disgust as she approached the counter, where a teenage barista was staring at Rory unblinkingly as she chewed gum. “Just Coffee. Black. Thanks.”
“Chamomile, please. Coconut milk and two sugars. Thanks, Charlie.” Carter swiped the ID hanging from her lanyard.
They sat in a surprisingly comfortable vinyl booth near the great wall of windows that opened out onto the emerald environs. They talked and laughed and reminisced, both on the Catastrophe and on their university years. And as they did, the air between them seemed to only grow warmer, like someone had lit a campfire on the sticky table between them.
Before they knew it, scarlet and umber painted the skies and trees. Carter checked her watch and bristled. Though she was off the clock for all intents and purposes, she was set to stay until dark working on her top-secret flame retardant project (the idea of which had sparked soon after the Catastrophe), as any underpaid researcher would.
Their unfinished drinks had long since gone cold, and they began to stand and grab their things. Outside, snowflakes cascaded down, clinging to the treetops but melting once they hit the ground. It made Rory think; the Solstice was quickly approaching, and she had yet to make any plans. Her moms were abandoning her for a cruise and though they’d so kindly invited her to stay at their house to watch their four cats meanwhile, Rory still maintained a glimmer of hope that her holiday break might be a little more exciting than that.
“Hey,” she said. “Would you… maybe…” Rory hesitated, “wanttocomeoverandvisitforsolstice?” She said it all in one nearly inaudible vomit. “Like, at the tower, I mean. Just for a few nights. I have a blowup mattress and everything, you wouldn’t have to sleep with me. I mean, slept in my be–” The more she talked, the more ridiculous the idea seemed. In her panic, Rory began to scan for the nearest emergency exit–
“Owens,” Carter interrupted, laughing that familiar smoky laugh. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”
Rory sighed in relief.
Minutes later, they stepped out into the cool night air. Rory paused for a moment, then came to a decision. With the suddenness of a phoenix taking flight, she stepped onto her tippy toes and pressed a more-than-perfunctory kiss to Carter Covey’s lips.
Once more, the bold Fire Ecologist was rendered a speechless puddle.
Rory smiled in satisfaction.
Somewhere in Camp Nelson, a pair of phoenixes called out to each other, their song as bright as fire.
Though Rory returned to her watchtower and Carter to her desk, they knew it would not be for long. That would not be their last kiss, nor the last phoenixfire they had to put out. Together.
THE END