wizard-of-the-pigeons

scruff of her neck. “How did you get in here?” he demanded of her, but she only
growled murderously in her throat. Tucking her under his arm, he gathered up
last night’s chicken bones. He took Ninja into the next room and then dumped
her unceremoniously outside the window of the fire escape. The bones followed.
A piece of old plywood kept for just such occasions blocked the window and her
reentry. Wizard went back to his den.
In the blackness he groped for his can of Sterno. Ninja growled and crunched
bones outside the window. Inside, the pigeons rustled on their high shelves and
cooed reassuringly to their mates. He set the Sterno inside the punctured coffee
can that served as a light shield and stove. He stared through the dimness at the
Sterno surface and focused his mind. Flames.
He sat still, recalling the perfect flickering details of a tongue of fire. He was
still sleepy and it took longer than usual to bring the magic to bear. It came as
dancing sparks that finally and suddenly coalesced into a single fat flame.
He shivered as he set the pan of rainwater over the mouth of the can. Little
bits of light escaped from the holes in the can’s sides, spattering dots of light on
the wall but not illuminating the room. He was grateful. He didn’t need light to
sense the hulking presence of the footlocker in its closet; it crouched beside the
half-fallen door like a gray predator awaiting unwariness. He herded his eyes
and mind away from it and immersed himself in his routine.
As his tea brewed, he dug out a pair of corduroy pants and a Pendleton shirt.
Mandarin Orange Spice was an herbal tea with no caffeine, but he spiked it
heavily with pilfered sugar packets. The sweetness warmed him and calmed his
shivering.
The last piece of cold chicken became his breakfast. A quick check of the fire
escape revealed that Ninja had eaten and left.
He set his boots down by the window and opened the connecting door
between the rooms for the pigeons. By ones and twos they fluttered past him and
sought the dawn sky. Returning to his own room, he kindled a candle from his
hoard and extinguished his precious supply of Sterno. Time to tidy up the den,
he admonished himself as he slipped ninety-nine cents into his pants pocket.
Yesterday’s clothing went into a bag to be disposed of today.
He smoothed the crumpled sides of the wizard bag and set it carefully atop
his wardrobe box. He shook and respread his blankets atop his thin mattress He
tidied his books, bringing their spines even with the front of the shelf and
carefully wiped out his tea mug. The crumpled wrappings from the cold fish and