The girl shook her head sluggishly. Oriell darted to the cage. The hinges were dented too badly to open, and part of the wire frame had split into jagged skewers. Blood spotted Arnica’s wing. Oriell began to pry the broken wires apart. If he could bend the cage enough, he could make a hole big enough to get Arnica out. The owl beat her wings in panic, spraying a mist of blood over Oriell’s hands. He was afraid she would hurt herself. He was more afraid that her thrashing would lead to his hurting her.

The thief sat up.

He couldn’t let her take Arnica. Oriell tugged at the wires. His hand slipped and one of the broken wires recoiled, whiplashing across his palm. A line of sharp pain welled with blood, but Oriell kept yanking on the cage. He had to get the owl free before she got any more hurt.

“You really care about that bird, don’cha?” the girl tried to make her voice lower than it was.

“Stay away from us!” Oriell shouted.

“Wha’s so special about it, then?” Suddenly, the voice was too close. Oriell could smell her, onions and dirt and unwashed human. “Wouldn’ wanna hurt you,” said the thief. The box cutter she wielded told a different story. “I need the money, see. I’m sorry and all, but—” As the thief threatened Oriell, he had continued to work on the cage, blindly. Although he did not know it, he had made just enough room for Arnica to burst from the cage. The owl screeched and flew at the girl, who screamed and threw up her arms to cover her face. The box cutter flew across the alley and vanished into a pile of shadow and garbage bags.

“Don’t hurt her!” cried Oriell.

“Make it stop!” the girl begged.

Arnica got her talons on the thief’s face. The girl screamed, and for a horrible moment, Oriell thought the owl had pierced her eyes. The owl careened away, landing clumsily on Oriell’s shoulder. The sobbing girl lowered her hands. Papercut-thin scratches spilled crimson across her eyelids and her cheeks.

Arnica “hmph-ed.”

“Where were you going to take her, anyway?” asked Oriell. “There can’t exactly be a booming trade for black market owls.”

“There’s an old guy, loony. He’s obsessed with anything ‘bout owls, specially them white ones.”

Oriell glanced at Arnica. “Take us to him,” he said.