Page 97 of Morally Black Betrothal

“Never a problem.” Pyotr’s words were tinged with a mild accent that sounded Eastern European. Maybe Russian? It was too slight to tell. “Come in, come in. And who do we have here?”

“Pyotr, this is Simone. My fiancée.”

I blushed, wondering if I’d ever get used to Brendan introducing me like that.

“Ah! You are getting married? Congratulations, my friend.” Pyotr shook Brendan’s hand again, then pressed kisses to each of my cheeks. “Welcome to the Wild Bird Fund, my dear.”

“Thank you,” I said as Brendan tugged me back into his side.

“I brought Simone here to meet the birds. We’re doing a tour of our favorite places.”

“What?” Pyotr threw a hand across his heart, feigning shock. “You didn’t bring her here to meet me?”

“And you, old man. You’re the life of this place.”

“Ah, well, we couldn’t do it without you, my boy, you know this. The birds thank you as well.”

I stole a glance up at Brendan. Just how many underfunded spots in the city was he supporting? Given how quickly he’d sent business to Pearl, it seemed like he offered patronages like he was dropping pennies into a fountain.

“It’s just money.” He looked uncomfortable.

I wondered if it was the discussion of money that did it, or if it was because I’d discovered that The Black Prince might be a genuinely kind human being.

A large window from the hall gave us a view of several rooms dedicated to the sanctuary. One was lined with cages of every size filled with a variety of birds. I spotted a hawk, two owls, a jay, a robin. Three pigeons were perched on branches propped up in the front windows. In another room, several smaller, non-predatory birds flew freely (or were trying to) from faux trees, though most were sleeping quietly on the branches at this time of night.

“I am working with Orion today,” Pyotr said as he led us under the false canopy and into the room with the cages. “Would you like to see him?”

“Who’s Orion?” I wondered.

“A snowy owl that got lost,” Brendan informed me.

“All the way down here?”

“We think he was blown into the city by the last storm,” Pyotr told us.

This room was brightly lit and smelled like a veterinary clinic—a blend of birdseed, wood chips, antiseptic, and animals. My eyes widened when I spotted the owl in a large cage in the corner.

“Hey there,” I whispered as I came to stand in front of him. “Aren’t you beautiful?”

“Someone found him on the ground in the middle of the day in Franklin Park,” Pyotr said. “We think he may have gotten ahold of a rat that had been poisoned. Luckily, we were able to flush out the toxins in time, and he seems to be recovering well.”

“He looks a lot better than he did last week,” Brendan remarked. “How long before you can release him?”

The birds were fascinating, but I found myself wanting to watch Brendan instead. His entire demeanor had changed when we walked in here. His eyes had lost that steely edge he used with most people, and he was openly interested, but not guarded. The closest thing to relaxed Brendan Black could probably manage.

“We’ll keep him at least a week, until we’re sure he’s regained his strength,” Pyotr replied. “Then Vera will take him north for release.”

“I bet he’s ready to go home,” I said.

Brendan pressed an absent kiss on the top of my head. “Aren’t we all?”

Before I could wonder what he meant by that, Pyotr continued the tour.

“Over here is our resident dove.” He led us to an open cage standing in the opposite corner and pointed at a white bird, his iridescent neck sparkling with each bobbing movement of his head.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Fitzgerald,” Brendan supplied.