hedonist

The veterinary clinic sat at the edge of town like a fortress of small miseries.

Magnus saw it first through the truck window as you pulled into the gravel lot. A low, flat-roofed building painted a shade of beige that had given up on ambition decades ago. The sign out front read ST. CELESTINE ANIMAL HOSPITAL in faded blue letters, with a cartoon dog and cat beneath it, both smiling in a way that suggested they had never actually visited the place. The windows were barred with security grates. The front door was solid metal with a hydraulic hinge. It looked, Magnus thought, like a building that had seen things.

More importantly, it felt like one.

The moment the truck crossed the property line, something pressed against the edge of Magnus's psychic awareness. Not a presence. Not a consciousness. An atmosphere. Pain, confusion, resignation clung to the walls and the parking lot and the scrubby bushes by the entrance like old smoke. Not malignant. Not hostile. Just... heavy. The accumulated distress of thousands of animals who had passed through those doors and not understood why.

Magnus ruffled his feathers and tried to draw his mind back. The sensation clung anyway. In his old body he would have dismissed it as background noise. In this one, every instinct screamed at him to fly away.

«Something is wrong with this place» he said.

Leman, already on his feet in the back of the truck, gave him a puzzled look. «It is vet. They fix things.»

«There is a miasma. A weight. Can you not feel it?»

Leman sniffed the air through the open window. His tail wagged once, experimentally. «Smells like disinfectant and cat urine. Nothing new. You are being dramatic.»

«I am not—»

You killed the engine. The sudden silence cut Magnus off. In the front seat, Fulgrim lay motionless on the blanket, and Corvus had gone limp enough that only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved he still lived. You were already out of the truck before Magnus could form another protest.

Leman shouldered the rear door open with practiced ease and jumped down onto the gravel. His paws crunched on the stones. He turned back, tongue lolling, and looked up at Magnus still perched on the torn bench.

«Come. I will show you where treats are.»

«I do not require treats,» Magnus said.

«You will. Nurse has good ones. Liver flavor.»

Magnus stared at him.

Leman stared back, entirely sincere.

Then you yanked the passenger door open and gathered Fulgrim into your arms with a care that made Magnus's complaint die in his throat. The snake was utterly limp. Blood had dried in dark patches along his purple scales. You cradled him against your chest, then reached for Corvus. The raven stirred weakly at the motion, beak opening, but no sound came out. You tucked him into the crook of your other arm and kicked the truck door shut behind you.

"Leman, with me. Now."

Leman fell into step beside you at once. Magnus had no choice but to launch himself from the truck and flap after you, landing awkwardly on the pavement just outside the clinic door.

The hydraulic hinge hissed as you shoved through.

Inside, the clinic was aggressively clean. White tile floors. Fluorescent lights that buzzed at a frequency Magnus could feel in his beak. A reception desk with a computer and a stack of clipboards. Chairs along one wall, the kind with molded plastic seats and metal legs. A woman behind the desk looked up as you burst in, and her expression shifted from routine boredom to alert concern in half a second.

"I need Dr. Chen," you said. "Now. Snake and a raven. Both attacked. The snake's been bleeding for at least twenty minutes. The raven has a wing injury and possible shock."

The receptionist was already on her feet, pressing a button on the desk. "He's in Exam Two. Go straight back. I'll tell him you're coming."

You didn't wait. You pushed through the swinging door into the hallway beyond, Leman at your heels, Magnus flapping behind in a controlled panic.

The hallway smelled worse than the waiting room. Sharper. More chemical. Under the disinfectant, Magnus caught the ghost-scent of blood and urine and the cold metallic tang of surgical steel. The psychic weight pressed harder here. Not evil. Just... heavy. The walls had absorbed too much animal terror over too many years. It seeped out now like groundwater.

Magnus hated it.

A man in a white coat stepped out of a doorway ahead. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and a face that had settled into calm competence decades ago. His hands were already gloved. His eyes went straight to the animals in your arms.

"Exam Two," he said. "On the table. Tell me what happened."

You followed him into a small room lined with cabinets and dominated by a stainless steel examination table. You laid Fulgrim out first, then Corvus beside him. The raven's good eye flickered open and fixed on the vet with a venom Magnus could feel across the room.

"Fight," you said, breathless. "I don't know the details. I found them in the trees behind my property. The snake had talon marks all over him. The raven's wing is broken or dislocated. They've both lost a lot of blood."

Dr. Chen was already examining Fulgrim, fingers moving with a gentleness that surprised Magnus. "Colubrid. Purple glossy snake. These punctures are consistent with bird talons. Corvid, by the spacing." He glanced at Corvus. "Your raven did this?"

"I think so. I don't know. They were just... on the ground together."

The vet made a noncommittal sound and continued his examination. Fulgrim did not move. His tongue did not flick. For one awful moment, Magnus thought he had died in the truck without anyone noticing.

Then Fulgrim's tail twitched.

Magnus released a breath he had not realized he was holding.

"We're going to need to sedate both of them," Dr. Chen said. He was already reaching for a drawer. "The snake's wounds need cleaning and suturing. The raven's wing needs imaging before I can set it. Are they wild or yours?"

"Mine," you said, then hesitated. "Sort of. Rescues. Recent."

The vet nodded as though this explained everything.

Behind him, a young woman in scrubs appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Chen, we've got the surgery suite prepped."

"Good. Get Kim and start on the snake. I'll take the raven." He glanced at you. "You'll need to wait in the front. We'll update you as soon as we know more."

You looked down at Fulgrim and Corvus, and Magnus saw the war on your face. The urge to stay. The knowledge that staying would only be in the way.

"Please," you said. "Please save them."

Dr. Chen met your eyes. "We'll do our best."

Two more nurses appeared. One lifted Fulgrim with practiced hands and carried him out. The other, a stocky woman with a no-nonsense expression, scooped up Corvus despite his weak attempt to snap at her.

That was when Corvus started screaming.

It was not a bird's cry. It was something older and rawer, dragged up from a place that had nothing to do with broken wings. It cut through the hallway like a blade. Magnus felt it in his skull. In his chest. In every feather that stood suddenly on end.

You flinched.

The nurse held firm. "Easy, easy. You're okay. We've got you."

"Can I go with him?" you asked.

Dr. Chen shook his head. "It's better if you wait. Animals pick up on our stress. If you're calm out front, it'll help them stay calm in back."

Magnus wanted to point out that Corvus had not been calm a single moment since arriving on this planet, but he held his tongue. Not that he could speak aloud anyway.

You let yourself be guided back to the waiting room. Your shoulders were tight. Your hands were trembling faintly. Leman immediately rested his head on your knee. You scratched behind his ears on autopilot, eyes fixed on the door to the back.

Magnus perched on the chair beside you and stared at that same door.

The screaming continued for a long time.

---

The nurse named Daisy had very gentle hands and absolutely no fear of birds.

Magnus discovered this the hard way when she scooped him off the chair without warning, tucked him under one arm like a feathery football, and carried him into an exam room before he could process what was happening.

"Let's get a look at you too," she said, setting him on a towel-lined table. "Looks like you were in the wars as well."

Magnus opened his beak to protest. What came out was an undignified squawk.

"Shh, shh. I know. It's been a rough day."

He was not being comforted. He was a Primarch. He had commanded fleets and shattered worlds and bent the laws of reality to his will. He did not require shushing.

Daisy ran a gloved finger along the edge of his injured wing, and Magnus's entire body locked up.

"That's a nasty scrape," she said. "Doesn't look deep, but we should clean it and get some antibiotic cream on it. You'll be sore for a few days." She paused, tilting her head. "You're a big boy, aren't you? Biggest macaw I've ever seen."

Magnus puffed his chest feathers on reflex before he could stop himself. Leman, the traitor, was watching from the open doorway with his tail wagging.

«She called you big,» Leman said into his mind. «You are weak to praise.»

«I am not weak to anything,» Magnus snapped.

«Your feathers puffed.»

«That was a physiological response to temperature variation.»

«Sure, sure.»

Daisy cleaned the scrape with something that stung, then applied a cool gel that soothed. Magnus tolerated this with what he considered monumental dignity. She then checked his blind eye, made a soft sympathetic sound, and declared that she could not do much for it but it did not seem to be causing him pain.

Then she said the words that changed everything.

"Okay, big guy. Just two quick injections and you'll be all set."

Magnus went rigid.

He saw the syringe in her hand. It was enormous. It was sharp. It was filled with a liquid that gleamed under the fluorescent lights like liquid malevolence.

«What. Is. That?» he said, and his mental voice was not quite steady.

Leman, still in the doorway, tilted his head. «Medicine.»

«I do not require medicine.»

«You fought Corvus. You might have bird germs.»

«Bird—» Magnus's mind stuttered. «There are no such things as bird germs!»

«Nurse thinks there are.»

Daisy swabbed a spot on his breast with alcohol. The cold made him flinch. "It's okay big guy, just a little pinch," she said.

Magnus prepared himself for the worst pain of his existence.

The needle went in. It was, objectively, a very small pinch.

Magnus squawked anyway. Loudly. With feeling.

"Aww, poor baby," Daisy cooed. "Almost done. One more."

The second injection was worse only because Magnus knew it was coming. He held perfectly still through sheer force of will and stared at the far wall while she doing it. Leman's tail was now wagging hard enough to create a breeze.

«You screamed,» Leman observed.

«I expressed surprise verbally,» Magnus corrected.

«You did a loud bird noise. It was a scream.»

Magnus turned his head very slowly and fixed Leman with his one good eye. «I will remember this.»

A second nurse appeared in the doorway, the same stocky woman who had carried Corvus back. She had a bag of treats in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other. When she saw Leman, her face broke into a grin.

"Leman! There's my favorite troublemaker."

Leman's entire body wiggled. He trotted over to her and sat down with the precise posture of a dog who knew exactly how to work the system. She crouched and rubbed both hands over his ears while he leaned into it, eyes half-lidded.

"How's the mouth, buddy? Let me see."

Leman opened his jaws obediently. The nurse peered at the cut on his gums from the metal latch, made a thoughtful noise, and dabbed it with something from a tube.

"Not bad. Keep it clean. No chewing on metal, okay?"

Leman licked her hand.

«You are shameless,» Magnus said.

«I have treats now,» Leman replied, and it was true. The nurse had produced a biscuit from the bag and was feeding it to him in small pieces. «She is my favorite human who is not the handler. She gives the good biscuits. The ones shaped like bones.»

Magnus, still moping on the exam table with two injection sites throbbing faintly on his breast, hated him a little bit.

The nurses finished their work and left them in a small recovery area off the side of the waiting room. It was a quiet corner with a few cages, a bench, and a low table covered in magazines. Magnus hopped down from the exam table and retreated to the farthest corner, where he hunched his shoulders and glared at nothing.

Leman followed, still chewing his biscuit.

«You are sulking,» Leman said.

«I am recovering. There is a difference.»

«From two little needle-pokes?»

Magnus turned his back.

The recovery area had a window that looked out onto the parking lot. The sun had shifted while they were inside. Late afternoon light slanted across the gravel, catching the dust in golden bars. Magnus stared at it and tried to sort through the tangle of his thoughts.

Fulgrim might die. Corvus might die. The day had started with a bath and ended with a truck full of blood, and somewhere in the middle of it all, he had seen roads that might have been built on ancient Terra. This planet, this absurd little farm world, was either the cradle of humanity or a very convincing echo of it. Either way, it was significant. Either way, he needed more information.

He also needed to stop being poked with needles.

Leman settled onto the bench beside him, front paws dangling over the edge in a pose that was not quite dignified. His golden fur was dirty in places from earlier.

«You have questions,» Leman said. «I can feel them rattling around. Ask.»

Magnus hesitated. He was not accustomed to asking Leman Russ for information. The old dynamic between them had been built on rivalry, suspicion, and the unspoken understanding that their father had pitted them against each other like game pieces. This easy, open offer of help was disorienting.

He pushed the old resentment aside with effort.

«The vet,» Magnus said. «You have been here before.»

«Many times,» Leman agreed. «Dr. Che is good man. Stitched my side when I fought badger. Removed thorn from my paw. Gave me medicine when I ate something I should not have eaten.»

«What did you eat?»

«Many things,» Leman said evasively. «The point is, he fixes things. He fixed me. He will fix Fulgrim and the Raven too.»

Magnus wanted to believe that. He wanted it with a ferocity that surprised him. The alternative was that he had watched Corvus nearly kill Fulgrim, then helped carry them both to this place of cold tile and chemical smells, only to have them die on a metal table while strangers poked at their wounds.

From somewhere deep in the back of the clinic, a fresh scream cut through the walls.

Corvus.

Magnus's feathers tightened. Beside him, Leman's ears flattened.

«He is very angry,» Leman said.

«He is very everything.»

The scream faded into a hoarse croak, then silence. A moment later, Magnus heard your voice through the door, low and soothing, the words indistinct but the cadence unmistakably gentle. You must have been allowed back after all, or perhaps you had simply ignored the vet's advice and gone anyway. Magnus found he was not surprised.

«She is with him,» Leman said. «This is good. Her voice makes things less scary.»

«You sound like a puppy.»

«I sound like someone who has been scared and then not-scared because handler was there,» Leman said without embarrassment. «It works. You will see.»

Magnus did not answer.

Another scream. This one shorter. Then a long silence broken only by the murmur of your voice and the distant clink of surgical instruments.

Magnus looked away from the door and found himself staring at the magazines on the low table. They were the sort of publications that existed only in waiting rooms: issues of farming periodicals and pet care digests and a single copy of a news magazine with a headline about a local pumpkin festival. He hopped onto the table and used his beak to flip one open.

The pages were glossy. The words were in Low Gothic, or something very close to it. Advertisements for livestock feed. An article about rotational grazing. A photograph of a cow that had won a ribbon.

He flipped another page with his claw.

«What are you doing?» Leman asked.

«Gathering intelligence.»

«You are reading about cow.»

«The cow may be relevant.»

Leman made a sound that might have been a laugh. «You are bored.»

Magnus flipped another page more aggressively than necessary. «I am a scholar. I have written treatises on metaphysics and the nature of the Warp. I can find interest in any subject, no matter how mundane.»

«What does the article say?»

Magnus scanned the text. «It is about... the nutritional benefits of alfalfa.»

«Ha.»

He flipped the magazine closed and shoved it away with one foot. Across the room, a young nurse was watching them. She had her phone out and was pointing it in their direction, a small smile on her face.

Magnus went very still.

«Leman,» he said. «What is that object?»

Leman followed his gaze. «Phone.»

«What does it do?»

«Many things.» Leman's tail wagged slowly. «Takes pictures. Sends messages. Shows moving pictures of dogs doing tricks. Handler watches it at night and laughs.»

Magnus stared at the phone with renewed intensity. A communication device. A repository of information. Possibly a gateway to understanding this world and how they had arrived here.

«The nurse is pointing it at us,» he observed.

«She is taking picture,» Leman said. «You are very red. People like taking pictures of red birds.»

Magnus preened a chest feather into place before he could stop himself. «I am not merely red. I am Ara macao. The colouration is striking.»

«You are preening again.»

«I am maintaining my feathers.»

The nurse tapped at her phone, smiled at whatever she had captured, and tucked it back into her pocket. Magnus tracked the motion with sharp focus.

«Could I use one?» he asked.

Leman looked at him. Then, very slowly, looked down at Magnus's feet.

His claws, sharp and curved, designed for gripping perches and branches and the occasional Corvus Corax. Not designed for tapping on small flat rectangles.

Magnus followed his gaze. Understood. Felt a spike of irritation so pure it made his blind eye twitch.

«Do not say it,» he warned.

Leman said nothing. His silence was somehow worse than words.

«I could operate it with my beak,» Magnus said.

«Sure.»

«I am very precise.»

«I believe you.»

«You do not believe me.»

Leman's ears tipped back in what Magnus now recognized as suppressed amusement. «You would peck phone. Phone would break. Nurse would be sad.»

Magnus wanted to argue. He wanted to list every fine motor skill he had possessed in his original body, every delicate manipulation of warp-stuff and material reality that had earned him the title of sorcerer. But his current body was a bird. His beak was good for cracking nuts and biting his brother's wing and not much else. And Leman, the infuriating mutt, was right.

He settled for a low, irritated croak.

From the back of the clinic, the screaming had stopped entirely. Magnus noticed the silence the way one noticed the absence of a toothache. It should have been a relief. Instead, it made him nervous.

«They have finished,» Leman said. «Or sedated him enough that he cannot scream.»

«Those are very different things.»

«Yes.»

They waited.

The minutes stretched. The sunlight outside shifted another few degrees. The nurse who had taken Magnus's picture moved past the recovery area with a stack of folders. She waved at Leman. Leman wagged his tail.

Then the door to the back swung open.

You stepped out, and Magnus knew before you spoke that it was going to be all right. Your face was tired and your shirt was still stained with blood, but your shoulders had dropped from your ears. You walked like someone who had just put down a weight.

Dr. Chen followed you out, pulling off his gloves.

"They're both stable," he said, and Magnus felt something loosen in his chest. "The snake—Fulgrim, you called him?—had seven puncture wounds and some bruising, but nothing hit anything vital. We cleaned them out, stitched where we could, bandaged the rest. He's on fluids and antibiotics. He'll be sore for a while, but snakes are resilient. He should recover fully."

"And the raven?" you asked.

Dr. Chen's expression flickered. "Corvus is... a fighter. The wing wasn't broken, just dislocated and badly strained. We've got it back in place and wrapped. The bigger concern was blood loss and shock. He's resting now. Honestly, I'm surprised he made it this far. That's a tough bird."

You let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep in your gut. "Can I see them?"

"In a few minutes. We're moving them to recovery now. They'll need to stay overnight for observation."

You nodded, and for a moment you just stood there, looking at the vet with an expression Magnus could not quite read. Gratitude. Exhaustion. Something softer underneath.

"Thank you," you said. "Really. I know they're just... animals. But they're my animals. Even the ones who bite me."

Dr. Che smiled. It was a tired smile, the kind worn by people who had spent years caring for creatures that could not thank them. "That's what we're here for. Now, what about the other two?"

You turned. Magnus and Leman were both watching from the recovery area. Magnus tried to look like he had not been eavesdropping. Leman did not try at all.

"Daisy took care of them," Dr. Chen said, checking a chart on the wall. "The macaw had a scrape on his wing and some bruising. Cleaned and bandaged. He also got his vaccinations updated, but he will need to go another day for follow-up appointments and vaccinations."

Magnus's head snapped up. «Again?»

"Good," you said. "He probably needed them."

"Also a beak trim might be in order, but we didn't want to stress him more today."

Magnus clacked his beak shut. «Beak trim?»

Leman made a sound that was suspiciously like a snicker.

"And Leman's mouth is fine," Dr. Chen added. "Superficial cut. He'll heal."

"He always does," you said, and the affection in your voice was so casual and so genuine that Magnus felt like an intruder hearing it.

You walked over to them. Leman stood up on the bench and pressed his head into your hand. You scratched him behind the ears, then looked at Magnus.

"You okay, big guy? They poke you?"

Magnus wanted to say that he had been stabbed twice, mocked by a dog, and threatened with cosmetic beak modification. What came out was a soft, involuntary chirp.

You smiled. "Yeah. You're fine."

Magnus wanted to be offended. He found he could not quite manage it.

---

They left the clinic an hour later, after you had visited the recovery room and stood with your hand pressed against Fulgrim's terrarium glass, after you had spoken softly to Corvus until the raven's good eye closed in something like sleep. The sun was low and orange. The air had cooled.

Magnus rode on your shoulder this time, claws gripping the fabric of your shirt. Leman walked beside you, tired but content, his tail sweeping slow arcs through the air.

They were almost to the truck when Magnus saw the boy.

He was small, perhaps six or seven years old, sitting on the clinic steps with a plastic carrier cage beside him. A woman who must have been his mother was inside talking to the receptionist. The boy was alone, kicking his feet against the concrete, and on his lap was the cage.

Inside the cage was a hedgehog.

Magnus froze.

The hedgehog was small. Smaller than a hedgehog should be. Its spines were patchy and dull, sticking out at odd angles. Its body was curled into a tight, defensive ball, but even from ten feet away, Magnus could feel the exhaustion radiating from it. The weakness. The pain. Old injuries healed badly. New ones still raw.

And beneath all of that, buried so deep it was almost lost, was a mind he knew.

«Perturabo?.»

The name tore out of him before he could stop it. A psychic shout so loud that Leman flinched.

«Magnus? What—»

Magnus launched from your shoulder.

You yelled in surprise. Your hand swiped for him and missed. Magnus beat his wings once, twice, and shot toward the boy and the cage like a crimson missile. The boy looked up with wide eyes. The cage rattled as Magnus collided with the wire door, claws scrabbling at the latch.

«Perturabo! Perturabo, it's me! Magnus! Can you hear me?»

Inside the cage, the hedgehog twitched.

Slowly, painfully, it uncurled just enough to lift its head. Its eyes were small and dark and rimmed with crust. They focused on Magnus with an effort that looked like it hurt.

The mind that touched his was faint. Threadbare. Dragged up from some deep well of exhaustion.

«...Magnus?»

«Yes. Yes, it's me. I'm here. We're here. Leman is here. What happened to you? How long have you been—»

«I don't...» Perturabo's thought frayed at the edges. «I don't remember. I woke up... cold. Small. Everything hurts...» A long pause, filled with static. «I am so tired.»

«Stay awake,» Magnus said. «Stay awake. I'll get you out of that cage. I'll—»

He yanked at the wire door with his beak. It did not budge.

«Magnus, what are you doing?» Leman was at his side now, looking from the cage to the boy to the hedgehog inside. «Is that—»

«It's Perturabo.»

Leman's ears went flat. «Storms take us. He looks worse than Fulgrim.»

«Help me open this.»

«How? I have paws.»

«Then find the handler! Get her to—»

"Hey! Hey, bird!"

The boy was on his feet, trying to shield the cage with his body. He looked scared. Magnus realized, distantly, that he was probably terrifying: a massive macaw with one blind eye and bandaged wing, attacking a child's pet carrier.

Your hands closed around him from behind.

"Magnus! What the hell!"

He fought you. He had never fought you before, not really, but he fought you now. His wings beat against your arms. His beak snapped at the air. He was screaming, a horrible raw sound, and he did not care.

«Perturabo!»

Inside the cage, the hedgehog curled up again. Slowly. Like a door closing.

«It's all right,» Perturabo's voice came, very faint. «It's all right. Go. I'll be... I'll be here.»

«No. No, I'm not leaving you. I'm not—»

You pulled Magnus against your chest and held him there, one hand gentle over his wings. "Shh. Shh. It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay."

The boy's mother came running out of the clinic. There were voices. Explanations. Someone apologizing. Someone laughing nervously. The cage was picked up and carried away.

Magnus watched it go. He watched until the boy and his mother climbed into a car. He watched until the car pulled out of the parking lot and vanished down the road.

Then he went limp in your arms.

You were quiet on the drive home. Leman lay across the back seat with his head on his paws, staring at nothing. Magnus sat on your shoulder again, pressed against the warmth of your neck, and did not speak.

The farm appeared through the windshield as the last light left the sky.

«We will find him,» Leman said into the quiet of their shared mind.

Magnus did not answer.

«We found each other. We will find him too. I promise.»

Magnus closed his eyes. The memory of Perturabo's threadbare voice echoed in his skull. The image of those patchy spines, that exhausted curl, stayed printed on the inside of his eyelids.

He was a scholar. He had written treatises on metaphysics and the nature of reality. He had believed, once, that knowledge could solve anything.

Now he was a bird in a truck on a backwater world, and one of his brothers was trapped in a cage and being carried away by strangers and there was nothing he could do about it except sit on a warm shoulder and wait for tomorrow.

«Rest,» Leman said. «We hunt tomorrow.»

Magnus let out a breath that was almost, but not quite, a laugh.

«Since when do you plan strategy?»

«Since I became dog,» Leman said. «Dogs are very good at finding things. It is what we do.»

The truck rumbled on through the dark.