The Menagerie

by Tui T. Sutherland

  Zoe whipped around to stare at the unicorn.

  “Are you finally talking to us again?” Zoe asked. She hadn’t heard a word out of the unicorns in a month, but they were always having diva fits about something.

  Cleo lifted her horn up in the air and stamped in a circle until her rear end was facing Zoe.

  So that answered that question.

  “Come on,” Zoe said. “Won’t you at least tell us what we did this time?”

  A frigid silence answered her.

  “Inform the girl,” Charlie said pointedly to Logan, “that we may be speaking to you, as you have yet to mortally offend us, but we are certainly not speaking to her nor to any of the other uppity serfs around here.”

  “Uh,” Logan said, “Charlemagne says—”

  “I heard him,” Zoe said. “Everyone can hear unicorns. Unfortunately.”

  “Oh, REALLY,” said Cleo, her voice echoing against the wooden boards of her stall. “You wouldn’t know it from the way we’re TREATED around here.”

  Zoe sighed and rubbed her forehead. Mollycoddling unicorns was not on her to-do list for the day. She had enough to worry about.

  They still had five griffins to locate and bring back. And then people could stop blaming her for their escape, and life could go back to normal.

  “Let’s go find my dad,” she said. She squeezed the griffin cub against her chest. “He’ll be so happy to see you, little guy.”

  “Gurk,” the griffin protested. She would never, ever get used to calling him Squorp.

  “Um,” Logan said, pointing at the hellhound who still had him fixed in her glowing red glare.

  “Oh, she’s not as scary as she looks,” Zoe said. “Ripper, at ease.” The hellhound immediately relaxed, and her enormous tongue lolled out. She even wagged her tail at Logan. Zoe didn’t like the look of that. The hellhounds weren’t supposed to like anyone who didn’t work at the Menagerie.

  Zoe fished a protein bar out of the treat bag on her hip and tossed it to Ripper. The griffin tried to snatch it out of the air, but the hellhound growled, and he shrank back into Zoe’s arms.

  “Protein bars?” Logan asked, watching in awe as Ripper wolfed down the snack, wrapper and all.

  “Yeah,” said Zoe. “My mom has this theory that if you never feed them human flesh in the first place, then they won’t develop a taste for it.”

  Logan blinked several times. “But so they . . . they normally—”

  “Most hellhounds eat people,” Zoe said. “Don’t you know anything about mythical creatures?”

  “I know they don’t exist,” Logan said. He smiled at the cub. “So, no, I guess I don’t know anything.” He followed her past the hellhound to the door. “What is this place?”

  Zoe chewed her lip, thinking. It went against all her training to tell him anything. But he’d seen way too much already. And when did she ever get to talk about the Menagerie? She had never, not once in her twelve years, gotten to tell someone the truth about her life.

  “It’s the Menagerie,” she said slowly. It was weirdly thrilling to say it out loud. “We—my family—we’ve been the caretakers here for several generations. But it’s really, really top secret.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Logan promised. It was kind of sweet that he thought they’d just take his word for it. His hand twitched toward Ripper as if he was thinking about petting her, but he wisely thought better of it. “Could I—could I maybe see a dragon before you kick me out?”

  Sure thing. We give tours of our top-secret facility all the time.

  On the other hand, the dragons were pretty cool. And Zoe had always wanted to show off the Menagerie—the one thing in her life she was actually good at, since it was the only thing she had any time for. She wondered what her parents would think of Logan. There was one thing they could do to fix this . . . but maybe they didn’t have to do it right away. Maybe she could show Logan around first.

  “We’ll see,” she said. “Come on, let’s go find my dad.”

  TEN

  That didn’t go too badly, Logan thought as he followed Zoe out of the stable. She may have been surprised to see him, but at least she didn’t seem like she was about to feed him to a dragon.

  He pulled up short when he saw a trio of hellhounds waiting beyond the stable’s door. They were drooling so much the grass below them was damp. Behind them stood a small, wiry guy who looked like he might be in high school. His hair was red-brown like Zoe’s, and he had a crescent-shaped white scar next to his left eyebrow. Even though it was October, he was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt the color of avocados, and Logan could see a web of more scars twisting down his left arm.

  “Oh, wow,” said the stranger. “There really is an intruder. And one of the griffins! Dude!”

  One of the hellhounds growled.

  “Yeah, good point, Jaws,” the guy said. “He does look pretty menacing.”

  “Is that what he said?” Logan asked nervously.

  Zoe sighed. “Hellhounds are basically just dogs. They don’t talk at all. Matthew was being funny, in his cleverly not-funny way. He’s my brother, but that’s top secret, too.”

  “Why?” Logan asked. “Is he like a mythical-creature secret agent or something?”

  “No, he’s just annoying,” Zoe said. She tossed protein bars at the three hellhounds and they all flopped to the ground, chewing. Logan noticed that one of them kept thumping his tail and giving his companions a huge, open-mouthed grin. The other hellhounds ignored him.

  “I will be a mythical-creature secret agent one day, though,” Matthew said. He lifted Squorp out of Zoe’s arms. “We call them Trackers, but same basic idea. Hey, fuzz ball! Where’ve you been? Your dad is freaking out.”

  Yuh-oh, Squorp groaned. Dad ALWAYS freaking out. His grumbling turned into a rippling series of griffin giggles in Logan’s head as Matthew tickled his chin feathers.

  “And who are you, exactly?” Matthew asked Logan.

  “He’s in my class at school,” Zoe said. “He can hear the griffin cub. Did you know that was possible? He says it wants to be called Squorp, of all things. He’s the only saxophone player in band and he’s in the advanced readers group and the cub brought him here and the unicorns weirdly love him for some reason.”

  “Also my name is Logan,” Logan offered.

  “Oh,” Matthew said with a curious expression. “I see.” He unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt and spoke into it. “Mom, tell the dragons it’s okay. We found the intruder, and I think the Menagerie will survive.”

  The bellowing alarm finally stopped.

  “Where’s Dad?” Zoe asked.

  “In the Aviary.” Matthew pointed to the white dome. “The birds were having a tiny meltdown over the intruder alarm. They’re already in a snit about all the construction going on in their space. I think Dad’s trying to explain to them again that the updates to the heating system are for their own good.”

  Zoe started off through the grass toward the Aviary with Matthew and Squorp close behind. Logan edged past the hellhounds who, thankfully, stayed put.

  “How many animals do you have in here?” Logan asked.

  Matthew and Zoe exchanged a look before he shrugged and answered. “About thirty or so, at least of the mythical variety. Three dragons, eight griffins, two unicorns, one kraken, one kelpie, four hellhounds, a bunch of other things. Depends on if you count all the salamanders separately.”

  They reached the shore of the lake, where tiny waves were rippling quietly against the sand. There were a couple of small islands out in the middle of the water, one a collection of large gray boulders, the other green and round and mossy.

  “Salamanders?” Logan echoed. That didn’t sound very mythical or exciting.

  Matthew looked amused. “The fire-eating kind, not the kind you’re thinking of,” he said.

  “Did Mom finish putting in the extra extinguishers and safety stuff?” Zoe asked anxiously. “The SNAPA agents were really serious about t
hat. The guy kept saying we might burn down the whole Reptile House.”

  “They’re being hard on us because of what happened with Jonathan,” Matthew said, patting her head. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll get it all done before Sunday.”

  “And find all the griffin cubs?” Zoe said. She rubbed her wrist absently. “I don’t see how. Everything keeps going wrong. I think we’re cursed.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Logan said. “I mean—I’m not busy.”

  Zoe didn’t answer, but she tilted her head at him as if she was seriously considering it. Logan couldn’t imagine anything cooler than helping out at a mythical zoo.

  “So . . . what happens to the griffin cubs when they get bigger?” Logan asked. “I mean, do you have to find new homes for them?”

  Zoe actually laughed. He hadn’t thought she could do that with her face all tense the way it always was.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You can’t have one. There are a lot of rules and a ton of training involved, plus you need the right facility and a license.”

  Something broke the surface of the lake beside them, and Logan jumped. It disappeared before he got a good look, but he thought it might have been a giant purplish-black tentacle.

  “Uh—so, wait, how did you get a license?” he asked.

  “My family got theirs a long time ago,” Zoe said. “Although we have to keep renewing it these days. We’re sort of descended from Kublai Khan, who had one of the first menageries ever.”

  “Seriously?” Logan said. “Like Genghis Khan? You’re related to that guy?”

  Matthew chuckled. “Him, too,” he said. “You’d believe it if you ever ran into Zoe first thing in the morning.”

  Zoe swatted him. “Not all of us sleep like the dead. You’d be just as grumpy if Firebella’s dawn song woke you nearly every day.”

  “There were plenty of zoos like this in history,” Matthew said to Logan. “The Ottoman Empire had a few, the Aztecs definitely had one or two, and Louis XIV had one at Versailles. But in the 1600s, the Royal Society of Species Preservation was formed to keep them all a secret. It’s a lot safer for the animals that way. You know how many ordinary species humans have already hunted to near extinction for supposedly magical properties? Just think what they’d do if they knew about real mythical creatures.”

  Logan could imagine, especially if people found out about the unicorns. “How many other menageries are there now?”

  “About fifty worldwide, but we’re one of the largest.” Zoe nodded at the lake. “And we’re the only one in North America with a kraken.”

  Logan eyed the glassy surface of the water. “A kraken? Like the sea monster that eats ships in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies?”

  Matthew snorted. “The movies never get anything right. They should hire me as a mythical-creature consultant. Wouldn’t that be cool? I’d be like, ‘Actually, Mr. Spielberg—oh, I can call you Steve? Cool—krakens are vegetarians. Also, unicorns have really bad attitudes. Imagine, like, megalomaniac llamas who can talk.’”

  “Our kraken isn’t that big,” Zoe said, ignoring her brother. “And she hibernates when it’s cold, which is most of the year up here.”

  Logan glanced at the lake again as they reached the forest-green metal door of the Aviary. That tentacle hadn’t looked very asleep.

  He blinked. The green island—had it been that close to the other island before? But . . . surely it couldn’t have moved. He watched it for a moment while Matthew unlocked the door, but it stayed perfectly still. Like a normal island. Hmm.

  He turned back to follow the Kahns. Through the door was a staircase down to a kind of air lock, and then another door of twisted metal vines led into the Aviary itself. A burst of iridescent blue butterflies scattered up in the air as the three of them came in. Chirps and twitters of birdsong surrounded them, and flickers of bright colors darted between the leaves.

  Logan had to crane his head back to see the dome far overhead. Giant fans whirred high in the ceiling, and a few winged shapes were spiraling happily in the gusts they produced. It was much warmer in the dome than outside.

  Zoe and Matthew were already disappearing into a tunnel of hanging vines, and Logan had to hurry to catch up. His sneakers sounded loud on the wooden boards, and he was pretty sure several of the birds were watching him from behind large, heart-shaped leaves.

  He spotted a tiny hummingbird zipping around Zoe’s shoulder, its chest feathers glowing pink like iridescent raspberries.

  “Whoa,” he said softly to her. “What kind of mythical bird is that? What can it do?”

  “The hum of its wings can tell you the future,” Zoe said in a hushed, mysterious voice. “Listen really carefully.”

  Logan concentrated, but all he could hear was the stream and the hidden twitters and squawks. The hummingbird paused at a white hibiscus, ignoring Logan.

  Worry-Cub making fun of you, Squorp informed him.

  “Oh. Wait, was that a joke?” Logan asked.

  “Yes,” Zoe said, smothering her giggles. “It’s just a hummingbird.”

  “That’s not fair,” Logan protested. “How am I supposed to know what’s magical and what’s not? Why would you have ordinary hummingbirds in here?”

  “The mythical birds like having company,” Matthew explained. “Most of them enjoy the noise and friendship of less-mythical birds. And a couple of them just like feeling superior to something else.”

  “Speaking of which,” Zoe said under her breath. She lifted aside a trailing vine curtain, wound with sunset-orange flowers, to reveal a nest on a low platform.

  The nest was the size of the Wheel of Fortune. Straw and curving green branches mixed with expensive-looking velvets and silks in purple and blue. Preening herself in the center was a massive white goose, as tall as Zoe, with a metallic shimmer to her orange beak. She didn’t bother to look up at the visitors until her feathers were perfectly settled.

  “Hi, Pelly,” Zoe said. “How are you feeling today?”

  Get comfortable, Squorp grumbled to Logan.

  The goose sighed and stretched her long neck up before answering. In a slow, drawly, quacky voice, she said, “Oh, it is so sweet of you to ask. I do appreciate how some people seem to care about me at least a tiny bit. I would never want to impose on anyone, but sometimes I do think just one more yeti-fur blanket would make this nest at least bearably comfortable. It’s not at all important, though. I wouldn’t even mention it if I weren’t sleeping so very badly. Only I might be able to produce even more golden eggs if I weren’t so terribly exhausted, but I’m sure that’s hardly important to a place as financially secure as this. Although I really am almost the only source of income you have, but of course I love my work, and I’m so happy to contribute. Another yeti-fur blanket is the only thing that could really make my happiness complete, but I’m sure it’s too much to ask. Forget I said anything.”

  Logan goggled at her. A goose that laid golden eggs! He wouldn’t mind having one of those in his backyard.

  “No, no,” Zoe said flatly. “Please. We just want you to be happy. I’ll talk to Mooncrusher about getting more fur tonight, but it might take a while, okay?”

  The goose sighed again, and Zoe hurriedly went on. “Anyway, we’re looking for my dad. It’s urgent. Have you seen him?”

  “Well,” the goose started slowly, but a new voice interrupted.

  “I know where he is!” it yelped. “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me? I could be so helpful if anyone cared I existed. SIGH!”

  “Okay,” Zoe said, putting her hands on her hips. “Nero, where’s my dad?”

  A gorgeous bird with fiery red and gold feathers strutted out of the trees. It was about the size of a pheasant, with dramatic trails of wispy plumage cascading in all directions. The goose stared balefully at it.

  “You don’t have to humor me!” the new bird declared. “I know where I’m not wanted!” A few of its tail feathers brushed the giant nest.

  “You stay away from my ne
st,” the goose hissed. “I will never forgive you for last time.”

  “You see?” Nero yelped. “Unloved! Unappreciated!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Matthew said. “We all love and appreciate you.”

  “SILLY? Are you calling my feelings SILLY?” The red bird flung his wings out dramatically, and the goose snapped at him, barely missing his feathers. He sidled a few steps away from the nest without pausing his rant. “This is what I mean! No one cares about me at all! I could just DIE, and no one would even NOTICE.”

  “Nero, stop!” Zoe shouted.

  Too late, Squorp cried.

  The beautiful red bird burst into flames.

  ELEVEN

  “NO!” Logan yelled. He leaped forward, yanked off his hooded jacket, and threw it over the fire. Flames burst right through the fabric, taller than him, and he staggered back in the face of the blazing heat.

  “What do we do?” he shouted to Zoe. She looked too astonished to react. A large palm frond was lying beside the nest, and Logan snatched it up and began beating at the fire. They’d had a fire scare at his apartment in Chicago once, soon after Mom left, when something got stuck in the toaster and small flames started shooting out the top. But this time there wasn’t a fire extinguisher under a nearby sink.

  And then, all at once, the fire collapsed and went out. The only thing left was a pile of charred black ashes as high as Logan’s knee.

  “Oh, no,” Logan said. He crouched beside the ashes, feeling sick. The palm frond slipped out of his fingers. “That beautiful bird.”

  “We should videotape this,” Matthew said to Zoe. “Nero hasn’t gotten a reaction like that in about six hundred years. It would totally make his century.”

  “Nasty, horrible creature,” Pelly the goose spat from her nest. “Did you see that? He deliberately tried to set my nest on fire.”

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Zoe said, her thin hands fluttering toward Logan. “I mean—your jacket . . .”