On a rocky outcrop far above a valley, a small plateau held two large eagles. The two eagles were flapping their wings violently, reminiscent of someone trying to beat dust out of a carpet.

  “Be quiet. BE QUIET!”

  One large eagle flapped his wing, deliberately blocking the beak of the giant eagle next to him.

  “WHY, FRANK!”

  Spit flew. The other eagle waved the wing away. Frank stared at him, then slowly nodded toward a distant spot.

  “That’s why, Henk,” he whispered.

  “Ah.” Henk whispered too, as he saw it.

  Both giant eagles made themselves as small as possible.

  “It’s not going to work, Henk,” Frank said, his voice heavy with regret. “We smell like hobbit feet.”

  “Damn those hobbits. Next time we let them burn.”

  Henk shook his head. “Surprised they didn’t burn immediately. They’re fifty percent liquor, and if that odor isn’t flammable, it at least feels like my nostrils are on fire.”

  They laughed.

  It was painful laughter. It faded quickly.

  Both eagles sighed at the same time.

  “She’s going to find us,” Henk said, a whimper slipping into his voice.

  “She already changed direction,” Frank replied. Desperation weighed down every syllable.

  ***

  “Hey, Frank. Hey, Henk.”

  A heavy female voice—like a manically depressed bungee jumper with a deep respect for safety.

  Nothing.

  She landed beside them anyway.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t like me either.”

  Henk glanced at her by accident. She looked up, eyes large and watery.

  “Fawkes, nice day, isn’t it?” he blurted out.

  Her red-and-yellow feathers were already smoking.

  “A day like the other ones. They all melt together, waiting to end.”

  A silence fell.

  “Ah. Crap.” Henk looked at Frank and nudged him with his wing. Frank rolled his eyes.

  “Hi, Fawkes,” Frank said. “You look… hot today.”

  He glanced at Henk.

  Henk tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and shook it very slightly.

  “Good joke,” Fawkes said flatly. “It’s fine. I’m used to the ridicule.”

  She sighed and traced half-circles in the dirt with one talon.

  A single flickering flame sparked in her eye.

  Henk stretched his neck and widened his eyes.

  “How are you today, Fawkes?”

  He nodded, bumping Frank with his wing.

  The flame in Fawkes’s eye slowly died. A thin ribbon of grey smoke rose.

  “Well,” Fawkes said, standing a little straighter, her voice firmer now,

  “helping the old man with his magic things. Important wizarding things.”

  “I thought he died?” Henk asked, turning to Frank.

  “No, he didn’t,” Fawkes snapped. “He’s the most powerful wizard of the school.”

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  “Yes, I am quite sure he will die,” Henk said.

  “Doesn’t he, Frank? End of book six?”

  Frank slapped himself with his wing.

  “Why, Henk. Why.”

  Fawkes began smoking from every feather.

  “He dies?”

  ***

  The two giant eagles stood beside a smoking phoenix. They glanced at each other.

  “It’s getting hot in here,” Frank said, taking a step back.

  “So, uh… Fawkes,” Henk blurted, “you look flamingly good today.”

  “Henk, please shut up,” Frank hissed.

  “Well, I’m burning with curiosity about the wizarding stuff,” Henk said, looking at Frank.

  “Help?”

  Frank shook his head, scanning for escape routes.

  “You got her fired up. I didn’t.”

  “Heh,” Henk chuckled. “Good one.”

  “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

  Flames now burst from Fawkes’s head and stomach feathers.

  The eagles froze.

  “Ah, screw it,” Henk said. “Yes, you little flint of a bird. We are burning you up.”

  Frank retreated another step, covering his head with his wings.

  “Well, I tried helping, but it didn’t work.” Henk raised his eagle shoulders.

  “You die in book four,” he added maliciously.

  Fawkes erupted into flame, burning brightly on the flat of the mountaintop—no smoke, only fire.

  When the fire died, a heap of ash remained.

  “Henk,” Frank said quietly. “What were you thinking?”

  Henk looked at him, his eyes fierce in the distance.

  “Always wanted to try that,” he squeaked.

  Then a sound came from the ashes.

  Immediately, Henk lost the air from his lungs and lowered his shoulders.

  “Ah yes. Forgot,” he said.

  Henk nudged the ash with a talon, revealing a tiny, reborn phoenix chick.

  ***

  Henk and Frank looked at each other and started to flap their wings. Just as one of their legs left the ground, a strict voice cut through the air.

  “You can’t leave.”

  A small horned bird hovered in front of the eagles as they tried to take off.

  “Go away,” Frank said, waving it aside.

  “If you caused the phoenix to burn,” the bird said in a tone that screamed teacher,

  “you are responsible for returning the chick to the school.”

  Henk stopped flapping, frowned, then took three big steps toward the horned bird.

  “WE—” he hissed.

  “ARE NOT—” his beak only a few inches from the small bird.

  “COURIERS,” Frank finished.

  “Eagles bring rings. Eagles haul hobbits. We are the plot-resolution for everything.”

  Frank stepped in beside Henk, forcing the horned bird to land.

  “Tell him, Frank!” Henk clapped his wings.

  “You burned the phoenix,” the horned bird said flatly. “You sit on the blisters.”

  “Technically, she burned herself,” Henk offered.

  “You bring him,” the horned bird said, lifting off again.

  “Yeah, make us,” Henk added, swatting the bird aside.

  “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” the horned bird said, then whistled once—long and low.

  ***

  A bird five times their size rose from the ground.

  The two eagles sat very still on their piece of rock.

  “You know Betsy,” Frank muttered.

  “Who’s Betsy?” Henk asked.

  Frank stared at him, then pointed at the massive roc.

  “Who do you think?”

  “Why would I know that?”

  “You did meet her before.” Frank tilted his head. “You know, a century or so ago.”

  Henk’s eyes had an empty stare.

  “When you tried to get that lamp.”

  Henk looked right and left, then down. He nodded.

  “You still don’t know, do you?” Frank slapped his head. “The lamp. The lamp you thought held gin.”

  Henk nodded again. “I do like gin.”

  Frank sighed and looked at the big bird.

  Betsy loomed closer.

  “Fine,” Frank sighed. “Henk will take the chick.”

  Henk nodded again. After a few seconds, he looked at Frank, his eyes narrowing.

  “Hey! That’s really far!”

  “Better start flapping,” the horned bird said, pointing to the chick.

  “And the cuisine there is awful,” Henk whined.

  “We’re not even special there, you know. Just large eagles. No oohs or aahs.”

  “ROOAAARRR!” Betsy added to the conversation.

  Henk reluctantly took the chick in his talons, muttering complaints every second.

  Then he lifted off.

  “Fine,” he said, “but this time, I’m gonna poop on the big fellow’s head.”

  “Henk!” Frank screamed after him. “To the west.”

  He pointed his wing and looked west—straight into Betsy’s face. Big fumes of steam poured from her nostrils. Her red, fearsome eyes locked onto Frank.

  Frank was silent for a second.

  “Damn you, Henk!” he squeaked as he flapped and flew after his friend.