The Menagerie #2 (15 page)

“Unlocked it never,” protested Scratch. His scaly tail twitched with a
clank
. “Touched it never, even sniffed it never. Broke itself did the anklet. Boom in the foreweek down and off.”

“It just fell off?” Zoe puzzled out. “Sometime in the last week? That's . . . worrying. They're really, really not supposed to do that.”

“Maybe someone messed with it,” Logan suggested.

“Free was Scratch,” said the dragon with a dramatic sigh, “but so-ever good was Scratch.”

“Really?” said Logan. “You didn't, say, fly out of the Menagerie and eat some sheep?”

Scratch squinted at him thoughtfully. “
Mostly
so-ever good was Scratch.”

“Oh,
no
,” Zoe said. “Scratch! You really ate those sheep?”

He clawed at the ground and looked pathetic. “Came back to cave, did not Scratch? Fat the empty-head of fluff on legs overtaking planet. Asking to be eaten was the fluff on legs. Hardly to miss among the horde. Plus also and plus hungry was Scratch.”

“We feed you plenty,” Zoe said, putting her hands on her hips. “I guess that's why you haven't been eating your dinner this last week—you've been full of sheep.”

“But not full of honk-bird,” said Logan. “I mean, goose. Right, Scratch? It doesn't make sense—even if he didn't like Pelly, why bother climbing into the Aviary to eat her and risk getting caught when he had a steady supply of sheep outside the walls?”

“And that's why you didn't set off the intruder alarm,” said Zoe. “You weren't even here.”

Scratch hunched his shoulders and made a snuffling noise. “Abject failure as alarm system is Scratch. Remorseful is Scratch the day long.”

“The sheep eating also explains the blood on his teeth,” Logan pointed out.

Zoe flicked a switch on the black wand and waved it over Scratch's neck. “And your chip isn't working, either. So no electric fence. How did that happen?”

The dragon shrugged. “Technology of mankind puny. Out went the zap. Surprised and flying and glamour-unseen was Scratch of a sudden pow.”

Logan flashed back to his first morning in the Menagerie, on Saturday—walking from the griffin enclosure to the lake in the quiet predawn, when he'd felt something like a shadow pass overhead, along with a breath of hot wind. That must have been Scratch returning from his nocturnal wanderings, invisible and full of sheep.

“But it was working a week ago,” Zoe said, frustrated. “I know the SNAPA agents checked everything—your anklet, the electric fence chips. How could both of those things break in the same week?”

“Somebody must have broken them,” Logan said. “On purpose. Knowing that SNAPA was coming back, and trying to get you in trouble.”

Zoe stared at him openmouthed.

“Aha,” said Scratch, the first glimmer of hope appearing in his dark eyes. “Perhaps not the fault of Scratch is all things. Perhaps
set up
was Scratch. Perhaps all innocent and noble still is Scratch and plus also not for extermination might be Scratch.”

“Don't get too excited, fire-breath. The SNAPA agents will say you could have eaten the sheep
and
Pelly,” Zoe pointed out. “This doesn't prove your innocence, I'm afraid.”

“But it might help us find the real killer,” said Logan. “And this isn't the first suspicious thing. I've been thinking about how the griffins got out of the Menagerie. There was that mysterious hole in the river grate. I think someone cut that hole, probably hoping the griffin cubs would escape that way.”

“Stop,” Zoe said, putting her hands over her ears. “Why would anyone do that to us? That's—that's sabotage. Like they
want
us to get shut down.”

“Exactly,” said Logan. “And most likely that same someone killed Pelly. So now the question is . . . who hates you that much?”

L
ogan was a little distracted during dinner with Dad Monday night. It was hard to focus on pork chops and corn cakes when he really wanted to get back to the Menagerie and keep looking for clues.

“So,” Logan's dad said. “Tell me about your day.”

Hmm
, Logan thought.
I met a family of werecreatures? I had a nice chat with a dragon? I saved my school librarian from getting her memory wiped? We glitter bombed a werewolf?

He settled for, “I ate lunch with Blue.”

“And Zoe?” his dad asked, a little too quickly.

Logan raised his eyebrows at him. “And Zoe.”

“Have you, uh—have you met her parents?” Dad asked, poking his pork chop with his fork as if he didn't really care about the answer, but Logan got the feeling he did.

What do you know, Dad?

“Yeah,” he answered.

“So they've . . . met you.”

“That's generally how it works.” There was a pause.
And they recognized me, and Zoe told me everything
, Logan thought.
Is that what you're wondering? Just ask me, Dad.
Finally he added, “They're really nice.”

“Hmm,” Dad said, with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“I bet Mom would like them,” Logan said boldly. He knew for a fact that his mom had liked them; according to Zoe's stories about Logan's mom, she'd been a regular visitor to the Menagerie, bringing them new mythical creatures at least once or twice a year.
So if you know that, Dad, maybe now would be a good time to come clean. Why else are we in Xanadu? Mom must have told you about this Menagerie. But you haven't gone to talk to the Kahns, or Zoe would have mentioned it.

“Your mom is usually a pretty good judge of character,” Dad said noncommittally.

He doesn't trust the Kahns
, Logan realized suddenly.
Maybe he thinks they know what happened to Mom.

Either that, or he doesn't know anything and I'm being paranoid.

“Do they have any interesting collections?” Dad blurted. “Like silver? Maybe a silver door or silver knives or—” He trailed off. “Never mind.”

“Dad, what on
earth
are you talking about?” Logan asked. Silver? Was his dad worried about werewolves? Did he think werewolves had taken Mom?

“Nothing,” said Logan's dad. “Just something someone said about the Kahns. Maybe I heard him wrong.”

Logan felt like they were each having a totally different conversation inside their heads than the one happening out loud. It made him want to throw corn cakes at his dad until the truth tumbled out of his mouth.

Maybe if I just ask the right question.

“Hey, what was Mom doing on her last trip?” he asked. “Do you know?”

Dad looked up and studied him with serious dark eyes. “Her normal business stuff,” he said after a minute. “Why?”

“Normal business stuff like what?”

“Logan,” Dad said, putting down his knife and fork. “Listen. I understand.”

Logan held his breath.
Do you? Is this it? Time for the truth?

“I miss her, too.” Dad reached across the table and patted Logan's hand. “For now we have to carry on just the two of us, okay? Maybe one day we'll find out more about where she went and what she's doing now. I feel like we will.”

Logan looked down at his plate, feeling a rush of disappointment. “I hope so,” he said. “I'm going to go finish my homework.” He got up, leaving most of his dinner uneaten, and went to his room.

Later that night, he lay in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about Mom. Purrsimmon landed on his chest and swished her tail in his face as she sauntered down to settle between his feet. Her eyes slid shut and in that irritating, semimagical way cats have, she was out almost immediately. Logan, on the other hand, couldn't seem to quiet his brain.

Mom, where are you?

An hour later, the only part of him that had fallen asleep was his foot. He tried to inch it out from under the cat.

“Mrreow!” Purrsimmon protested. She sat up and glared at him.

“Sorry, Purrs,” he said. The curtains at his window shifted in the breeze, and he pulled the blankets higher. Soon he'd have to start shutting the window at night, which would give Purrsimmon a whole new thing to be mad about.

Is Mom thinking about me right now? Is she okay?

She'd gone looking for a Chinese dragon for the Kahns' Menagerie.

She'd sent Logan and Dad a postcard saying good-bye. A postcard postmarked from Cheyenne, Wyoming.

And then she'd disappeared, along with the dragon.

Or actually, it was the other way around, wasn't it? She'd disappeared, and
then
she'd sent the postcard.

So she couldn't be dead. Dead people don't send postcards.

Maybe someone made her send it.

Logan hesitated, then reached over and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand. He ducked under the covers and dialed Zoe's number. He didn't think she'd be awake, but maybe hearing her voice on her voice mail message would help him think about something else.

“Hey,” Zoe answered sleepily.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I thought your phone would be off.”

“It's okay,” she said. “I'm just lying here worrying about why someone would sabotage the Menagerie.”

“I can't sleep, either,” he said. He listened to her breathing for a moment. “Zoe. What if the same person also took my mom? What if kidnapping her and the Chinese dragon was part of the same plan to shut you guys down?”

Silence.

“Zoe?”

“I had the same thought,” she said. “But I didn't want to freak you out.”

“Always tell me everything,” he said. “Any thought you have about where she might be or what might have happened. You can't freak me out more than I already am.”

“All right, I promise,” she said. “As soon as this trial is over, we'll focus on finding her, okay?”

Logan had no idea how they would begin to do that.

“I'd better go,” Zoe whispered. “Keiko is making extra-grumpy noises in her sleep.”

“Okay,” Logan whispered back. “See you tomorrow.”

Tuesday at lunch, Logan was the first one to get to the courtyard, and he sat at the stone table for a few minutes by himself, worrying, even though he knew he was being stupid, that Zoe and Blue had decided to sit somewhere else. So it was almost funny when Blue, then Zoe, then Marco, and then, almost immediately, Jasmin descended on the table like a bunch of dragons coming in to land.

Jasmin gave Marco a half smile and squished herself next to Blue, wrapping her hands in her autumn-leaf-colored scarf and rubbing them together. “It's so cold out here! Blue, are you sure you don't want to sit inside with me?”

“I'm all right,” Blue said in the nicest possible way. “I don't get cold. But thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Jasmin said with a shrug. “Question for you, though. Why is there a sixth grader going around telling people that she's coming to my Halloween party on Friday?”

“Oh, Keiko,” said Blue. “Sorry, I forgot to check with you.” He shot Logan a wicked grin. “Logan really wanted me to invite her.”

“What?” Logan nearly sprayed turkey sandwich all over the table.

“Aww, cute,” Jasmin said, looking straight at Logan for the first time. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Okay, then I'll allow it. The other thing is that I finished
The Hunger Games
and we are
so
going as Katniss and Peeta! I definitely have a bow and arrow somewhere. I'll figure out your part of it, don't worry.”

“Um,” said Blue.

“Brrr! I'm going inside. See you guys later.” Jasmin touched Blue's shoulder again, and this time she graced Marco and Logan with a smile before she hurried away.

“Blue!” Logan exploded as soon as she was gone.

“What?” Blue said, feigning innocence. “What's that I hear? Oh, it's the beautiful sound of retribution. That's right. Snap.”

“But
I'm
Keiko's soul mate,” Marco said. He stood up, started rolling up his sleeves, and pointed at Logan. “We're doing this right now.”

“Doing what?” Logan asked, confused.

“You'd better bring your arms of fury, because I will be battling with the strength of a hundred roosters, and that's—stop laughing,” he said to Blue. “Roosters are stronger than you think. Well, they have claws and beaks. Hey, I bet
you
wouldn't want to fight one.”

“I'm not going to fight you!” Logan said.

“I'm not going to fight you, either,” said Marco. “I'm going to arm wrestle you, and I'm going to crush you, and then I'm going to dance in a circle like a World Wrestling champ, and then you are going to bow out like a gentleman and leave Keiko to me.”

“Oh, brother,” Zoe said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Marco, you are in so, so, so much trouble if you think that approach is going to work with her.”