William Montgomery liked quiet mornings.
At six o’clock sharp he stepped onto the patio, carrying two mugs of tea while Maggie followed with toast piled on a plate. The sun was already warm, the robins were making an almighty fuss in the hedge, and for a blissful moment William allowed himself to believe this day would be ordinary.
Then something hit the patio doors hard enough to rattle the glass.
WHOOMP.
Maggie gasped and rushed over. “Oh the poor thing! William, come and look!”
He set down the mugs, hurried across, and found a large heap of feathers on the ground. The creature was the size of a large gull, but totally unlike any bird he’d ever seen. Its feathers shimmered scarlet and gold, with flickers of purple and blue running along the wings like trapped lightning.
“Maggie,” he said slowly, “that’s not a bird from around here, it must have escaped from the town zoo.”
“No bird is normal after flying into a window,” she said briskly. “Get a box.”
He fetched the nearest thing, an Amazon parcel box from the recycling bin, lined it with one of Maggie’s older towels, and together they eased the bird inside. It was warm. Very warm. Almost too warm to hold.
They had barely stepped back when the towel began to smoulder.
“Oh hell!” William leapt for the kitchen. A moment later he exploded back through the door, fire extinguisher in hand, and blasted the box with foam.
The bird shot upright with a furious squawk.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
William dropped the extinguisher. Maggie let out a noise halfway between a scream and a hiccup.
The bird glared at them, shaking foam from its wings. Its feathers flashed in the morning sun—red, gold, violet—like someone had set a rainbow on fire.
“Well?” it demanded. “Do you try to suffocate every unconscious guest or am I special?”
“You… can talk,” Maggie whispered.
“Of course I can talk! I’m not a pigeon.” The bird hopped out of the soggy box and onto the breakfast table with surprising dignity. “How rude of me. I should introduce myself. I am Aideen—one of the few remaining Irish Phoenixes. You may never have heard of us. We came on the boats with Parthalán nearly five thousand years ago. He and his people all died of plague, and we were left here. We’ve stayed ever since.”
William looked at Maggie. Maggie looked at William.
The bird sighed. “Honestly. Humans. A flaming, glowing, magnificent creature lands on your patio and you stare like I’ve ruined your laundry.”
Maggie composed herself first. “Aideen… can we help you?”
“Yes,” said Aideen, feathers dimming. “In fact, I came for William.”
“Me?” William croaked.
Aideen nodded gravely. “You have a problem. Quite a large one, considering your occupation. You are afraid of fire.”
William stiffened. “I’m not afraid. I just, respect it.”
“You panic,” Aideen corrected. “Inside your chest there is a place that never healed. You do your job despite it, but it gnaws at you. You think no one notices, but every phoenix sees the truth in a flame.”
William swallowed. His palms were sweating. He hated how much the bird seemed to see.
“So why are you here?” Maggie asked gently.
“Because I cannot complete my own cycle alone,” Aideen replied. “Tonight, I must burn, properly. And I need witnesses. Companions. A phoenix’s rebirth should never happen unseen.”
He looked directly at William.
“I need you. And you, in turn, need this.”
They prepared the garden shed at dusk. William laid down fire blankets, paving slabs, and the old steel ash tray from his abandoned barbecue project. Aideen hopped inside it, wings drooping, colours fading to dull embers.
William’s heartbeat thudded in his throat. He could already feel the heat rising off the bird.
“You don’t have to like fire,” Aideen said softly. “You only have to stay.”
Maggie slipped her hand into William’s.
He nodded, though his stomach twisted.
Aideen closed his eyes.
The first spark was tiny, just a glimmer at Aideen’s breastbone.
Then another.
Then the entire bird ignited in a sudden column of gold flame.
Light roared against the walls. Heat slammed into William like a physical blow. His breath hitched lungs shrinking, legs twitching to run. His heartbeat pounded behind his eyes.
He stepped back. Just one step.
Maggie’s hand tightened around his.
He forced himself still.
Forced himself to watch.
Forced himself to breathe.
Inside the inferno, Aideen sang, a long, pure note that wavered like a violin string melting into light.
Then, with a sudden WHUMPH, the fire collapsed inward and vanished.
Ash.
Silence.
A faint trickle of smoke curling upward.
William’s knees nearly gave out.
Something moved in the ashes.
A tiny bird pushed its way up, glowing faintly, eyes bright as molten amber.
The chick blinked at them, shook ash from its downy wings, and chirped testily:
“Well done, William Montgomery! Next time, try not to douse me in chemicals before the sacred renewal.”
William let out a strangled laugh. His eyes stung, and for once, it wasn’t the smoke.
He had stood in front of the hottest fire of his life.
And he had not run.
The weeks that followed brought quiet, strange changes.
Baby Aideen took up residence on William’s shoulder, offering unsolicited commentary on everything from toast to hose maintenance. Maggie swore the little phoenix glowed brighter whenever William faced something that used to rattle him. The fire station noticed too, he was steadier, calmer, more focused.
And the garden shed smelled permanently of cinnamon and burnt sugar, no matter how often William aired it out.
One evening, as Aideen settled into his favourite perch on the shed roof, he said:
“Remember, lad. Fire isn’t your enemy. It’s just loud. Stand firm, and it will listen.”
William looked at the glowing chick, then at the horizon lit by the sunset.
He no longer felt that old tightness in his chest.
Fire was still fire.
But he was no longer afraid.