"Marvelous."
Maurise tucked the owl against his chest with a satisfied hum.
Much like the undead cat before it, the bird felt like a feathered ice pack against his skin.
"Hoo. Hoo."
Unlike the docile skeletal feline, however, this feathered menace was not keen on cuddles. It thrashed about in his arms, wings beating against his chest.
"Pack it in," Maurise commanded in a low voice, tightening his grip on the squirming bundle of feathers. "Don't move."
Honestly, hugging a block of magical ice in the sweltering summer heat was actually quite pleasant. A portable air conditioner with a beak.
Upon receiving the direct order, the owl reluctantly settled down, though a low, rumbling vibrato continued to emanate from its throat.
It was clearly filing a formal complaint.
Objection overruled.
Maurise shifted his posture, finding a more comfortable way to hold his new acquisition.
Finally, the owl reached its breaking point.
Its pitch-black body suddenly lost cohesion, dissolving into a fluid mass of darkness. In the blink of an eye, it dripped down and melted seamlessly into the shadow stretching out from Maurise's heel, vanishing without a trace.
His arms were suddenly empty, leaving only a lingering wisp of chill air.
Maurise blinked, momentarily stunned. He looked down at his shadow, which looked perfectly ordinary, and a grin spread across his face.
"So that is your talent, is it?" He decided to test the waters. "Come out."
The shadow at his feet rippled like water disturbed by a pebble, but the owl refused to surface. There was only a faint, muffled hoot that sounded distinctly petulant.
Maurise raised an eyebrow. He wasn't annoyed; quite the opposite, he was amused.
"So much personality. Fine, have it your way."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well... since you are going to be sticking around, you need a name."
"Let me think..."
His gaze drifted to the corner of the room, landing on a box of cheap pyrotechnics that had been left out in the rain and were now thoroughly ruined.
"I'll call you Cinder."
The moment the words left his mouth, the shadow at his feet began to boil. Black ink surged upward, rapidly condensing back into the shape of the bird.
Cinder stared at him, its eye sockets blazing with ghostly blue flames that were currently wide with indignation.
"Hoo!!!"
Regrettably, the second objection was also overruled.
And just like that, the name Cinder was arbitrarily etched in stone.
Perhaps it was because his own blood had been mixed into the ritual circle, but Maurise found he could sense Cinder' emotions to a certain degree.
Even though the bird was acting incredibly aloof and resistant, Maurise could feel a profound, soul-deep affinity that it couldn't hide.
To put it simply, the bird was playing hard to get.
With that realization, Maurise scooped Cinder up and ruffled its feathers vigorously.
Cinder let out a short, humiliated squeak, its feathers puffing up as if they were about to explode. Almost immediately, it gave up the physical struggle, dissolved back into shadow, and dove into the ground faster than before.
Maurise couldn't help but chuckle.
What an interesting child.
After a morning spent conducting experiments, Maurise had mapped out the rules of Cinder' ability.
The constraints were clear: Cinder, the undead owl, could only inhabit shadows cast by Maurise himself. It could not transfer into the shade of a tree, a building, or another person.
Furthermore, the "door" only existed when a shadow existed.
If Maurise stood in total darkness where light was completely obscured, the gateway was sealed from both sides. If Cinder was inside the shadow when the lights went out, it would be trapped there until illumination returned.
Despite the limitations, it was an incredibly convenient ability. It meant Maurise could carry Cinder everywhere without drawing attention.
Moreover, judging by the emotional feedback drifting through their bond, resting inside the shadow was apparently equivalent to a spa day for the undead creature.
Maurise decided to let Cinder remain in his shadow for the time being. One never knew when a spectral owl might come in handy.
Lunchtime arrived, and the dining hall at the orphanage was buzzing. For the first time in ages, dessert had appeared on the menu. A small square of chocolate cake for everyone.
It was a sinful mixture of sugar and grease.
Maurise did not hate it. In fact, he quite liked it. The cloying sweetness suited his palate perfectly.
Scott poked at the edge of his cake with a fork, looking suspicious. He glanced up at the nearby matron. "Is it a holiday? Why the cake?"
The care worker paused, looking equally confused. "To be honest, I haven't the foggiest. The kitchen just sent it out."
'It was likely Harold's doing', Maurise mused, taking a bite.
He had no proof, of course.
Speaking of Harold, the man had expressed a keen interest in the undead owl project. Maurise had promised to show him the results.
It would be best to honor that agreement sooner rather than later.
After lunch, Maurise made his way to the parlor and located the black rotary telephone. It sat in the corner, coated in a thin layer of dust from disuse.
He dialed the number Harold had given him and waited. The line rang... and rang... and rang.
"...Taking his time, isn't he?"
Just as he was about to hang up, the line clicked.
"Hello?" A crisp, childish voice chirped from the other end.
Maurise froze, wondering if he had botched the number.
"Is anyone there?" The girl's voice was light and airy.
"I am looking for Mr. Green," Maurise said, keeping his tone polite but cautious.
"Daddy is busy," the girl replied dutifully.
It seemed Harold had given him his home number. That was a surprising level of trust.
"Could I trouble you to fetch Mr. Green?" Maurise asked, softening his voice. "It is quite important."
"Wait a moment, please."
Through the receiver, he heard the pitter-patter of small feet running away, fading into the distance.
Moments later, there was the sound of muffled conversation. He couldn't make out the words, but he recognized the cadence of Harold's voice.
"Hello?" Harold's voice finally came through, breathless.
"This is Maurise, Mr. Green," Maurise said efficiently. "Regarding the owl problem. It has been resolved. Would you like to see it?"
"I'll be right there," Harold replied instantly, his tone dripping with urgency.
About an hour later, Maurise met Harold in the orphanage's reception area.
"Where is the owl?" Harold asked the moment he saw the boy, skipping the pleasantries.
"In the courtyard."
Maurise led the way.
At this time of day, the walled garden was deserted. The other children were either napping or attending to chores.
He hadn't wanted to expose Cinder' shadow-traveling ability just yet, so he had left the bird perched outside rather than carrying it in his shadow.
They walked through the corridor in silence.
"So, you managed to cure the bird's illness?" Harold asked, concern etched on his face.
"No." Maurise stopped at the entrance to the courtyard and shook his head calmly. "It died. But then I convinced it to live again."
Standing in the center of the garden, Maurise gave a sharp whistle.
A black shape detached itself from the eaves of the roof, swooping down to land gracefully on Maurise's outstretched forearm.
Harold recognized it immediately. It was the same lethargic, dying creature from yesterday.
But now? Now it was energetic. Too energetic. Its eyes were bright and alert. In fact, they were burning...
No.
They were literally burning.
Harold stared, mesmerized, at the spectral blue flames dancing in the owl's sockets.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"This is... this is what you meant by 'live again'?"
"It is an undead creature now. Go on, give him a stroke," Maurise said, offering his arm forward. "You will understand once you touch him."
Cinder stood silently on Maurise's forearm, weighing almost nothing. Another side effect of its new existence.