The Menagerie (5 page)

EIGHT

L
ogan pelted after Squorp as the griffin charged across the road. He glanced over his shoulder and saw four dark shapes burst out of the main house. They couldn't be dogs—they were
far
too big to be dogs. Was the Menagerie guarded by wild rhinoceroses?

Squorp slammed open the door with his front claws, and they darted into the shed.

Which wasn't a shed, Logan realized as the door shut behind them. It was a stable, with three stalls for animals along each wall and a scattering of fresh hay over the wooden floor. Skylights in the roof let in small square columns of sunshine. The wood smelled newly cut, and he could see cracks of light between the boards, as if the whole building had been thrown together recently.

Safest in here.
Squorp panted, flapping his wings to cool off.
Charlie and Cleo won't tell on us. Don't talk to humans much. Too superior and perfect-perfect.

Logan glanced uneasily at the only door. If someone—or some
thing
, say something roughly the size and ferociousness of a rhinoceros—came through there, he had no way out.

Squorp trotted down the aisle, heading for a pail of bright red apples hanging outside one of the middle stalls. An embossed silver nameplate that read
CLEOPATRA
was nailed into the center of the door. Directly across from it hung a bronze plaque saying
CHARLEMAGNE
. Logan saw a brilliant white rump over each of the stall doors and felt a surge of disappointment. Charlie and Cleo were just horses.

Squorp jumped up and down, flapping furiously, until he managed to snag one of the apples with a foreclaw. He yelped with joy and sat down on the floor with it.

“Really?” Logan said. “Now seems like a good time for a snack break?” The alarm was still bellowing in the distance, barely muffled by the stable walls.

All the time good time for snacks,
the griffin explained, looking unconcerned. He sank his beak into the red skin with a
crunch
.

Inside her stall, Cleopatra snorted in annoyance and swung around.

Logan gasped. On her forehead, between Cleo's dark purple eyes, was a glowing spiral horn.

Cleo and Charlie were not just horses.

They were unicorns.

Cleo leaned her head over the stall door and pointed her horn at Squorp like a dagger.

“Drop it,” she growled. Logan shivered. The unicorn's voice was raspy and menacing, but it still had a weird music to it, like if wind chimes could snarl at you.

Squorp froze, then eased a step backward, gripping the apple tighter in his claws.
Cleo no like red crispy. See how she has a whole pail full!
The griffin gave Logan an imploring look.

“You could at least have asked, Squorp,” Logan pointed out. “That would have been the polite thing to do.”

“It
would
have been,” said the unicorn haughtily. “But griffins are notoriously uncouth.”

And unicorns ontoriously grumpy! She say no if Squorp ask!

“We're sorry, Miss Cleopatra,” Logan said. He wondered what the proper etiquette was for asking to touch her horn. It looked like the inside of seashells. But some part of him knew she would never let him near it. “We just needed a place to, uh—stop for a moment, and . . .” He trailed off as the unicorn raised her piercing gaze to him. She sniffed sharply.

“Charlemagne?” Cleo addressed her stablemate, but her eyes pinned Logan to the floor. “I hate to bother you during your oh-so-important-yet-somehow-never-fruitful beauty rest, but do turn around. There's a new serf here who seems oddly familiar, and I can't quite place my horn on it.”

“Well, no one expects a lady unicorn's brain to retain information.” The other unicorn neigh-chuckled to himself as he slowly shifted around in his stall and stared at Logan. His eyes were liquid gray, like cold, early-morning sky, and he had a short tuft of hair on his chin.

Crunch crunch
. Squorp had taken the opportunity to devour the apple in two bites. As Cleo huffed and swung her horn down toward him, Logan swooped to pick up the baby griffin and stepped out of range. Having Squorp's comforting warmth against his chest helped settle his nerves while Charlemagne peered at him.

“Ah.” The male unicorn nodded wisely. “Of course.”

“What?” said Cleopatra.

“Indeed,” said Charlemagne. “It's quite obvious.”

“You overgrown pony, I am going to knock this door down and come poke out your eyes if you—”

“All right!” Charlemagne snorted. “He reminds you of our adoring caretakers in the Sahara oasis menagerie. Remember how they played music for us every night?”

“That's not it!” Cleopatra stamped her hooves impatiently. “It's not his pigmentation. Look at his eyes.”

“Settle down. I'll take a closer look.” Charlemagne edged forward in his stall and poked his head out toward Logan, sniffing and snorting emphatically.

Logan squirmed. He was about ready to risk the rhinoceroses just to get away from the unicorns' inspection.

“Oh ho,” Charlemagne said, pulling back. “I see. It's that lanky Tracker who brought in the alicanto and the girl's smelly fur ball. That's who you're thinking of.”

“Hmmm. Well, that makes no sense,” Cleopatra said. She turned to Logan. “Boy, don't just stand there gawking. Do you have a purpose for being here? If not, be on your way and take that little pest with you before he steals any more of my food.”

Charlemagne cocked his head. “Wait, hold your humans. I think the serf may be the cause of all the fuss out there.”

Logan blanched. This was it—the unicorns were going to call out a warning, and the rhinoceroses would come charging in.

“I, uh, I didn't mean to—”

But before the unicorns could do anything, the door to the stable burst open. A slavering, enormous beast filled the frame. Squorp yowled and threw himself out of Logan's arms into the closest empty stall. Logan would have done the same, but he was too petrified to move.

It wasn't a rhinoceros after all. It was a dog . . . a dog nearly the
size
of a rhinoceros. And although Logan considered himself a dog person, this was not the kind of dog he had in mind.

Dense black fur covered it from head to paws, and its irises burned with a scarlet glow, like the red eyes on a poorly taken photo. And right now its gaze was locked on Logan. It let out a triumphant bark, the noise low and so loud it filled the small stable and reverberated in Logan's ears.

The beast slowly paced toward Logan.

“Squorp, any chance this guy is a friend of yours?” Logan asked, backing up against the far wall.

Not allowed to play with Ripper or Killer or Jaws. Mum-mum say all bark, no bite, but to stay away.

“What is it, Ripper?” a voice called from outside the stable. “Another false alarm?”

I really hope Ripper's an ironic nickname,
Logan thought as the animal stalked closer. It stopped and sat firmly in front of him, as though daring him to move. The tip of its muzzle was only inches from his throat, and a sulfuric scent wafted from its fur. Logan lowered his eyes so he wouldn't appear challenging.

“You!”

Logan looked up past the towering canine and saw Zoe Kahn standing, flabbergasted, in the doorway. Her eyes darted from the unicorns to the giant dog to the pasture outside as if she was trying to figure out where and how to hide them all before he saw them. “What—what are you doing here?”

Oh NOOOOOOOOOOO,
Squorp groaned.
Sooooooo busted.

“I'm sorry,” Logan said. “I didn't mean to cause trouble, but he said there were dragons, and I thought it was the best way to get him home—”

“Stop,” she said, waving her hands. “Who? How did you get in here?”

Logan reached into the stall and dragged Squorp out into the open.

“Check it out,” he said. “I found your dog.”

NINE

Z
oe stared at the new kid. He'd never even spoken to her before this morning, and now here he was, in her Menagerie. Holding a mythical creature as if he did it every day.

“I'm just kidding,” he said. “I know it's a griffin.”

The little golden cub batted huge, innocent eyes at Zoe. She couldn't believe it. It really was one of the griffin cubs, just sitting there in Logan's arms. Surprise and anxiety warred with relief, and relief quickly won.

“You really did! You found him!” Zoe leaped past the hellhound and scooped up the cub, expertly avoiding his sharp claws and tucking his wings neatly around him. She was so happy to have one of the griffins back that she didn't even care for the moment that a stranger had somehow snuck into the Menagerie.

“Are you okay, little guy?” Zoe cooed to the griffin as she ran her hands lightly over his feathers and fur, checking for injuries.

“He seems okay to me,” said Logan. “He ate, like, a truckload of hamburger meat at my house. Plus some mouse food. I hope that's not bad for him.”

“Don't worry,” Zoe said. “Griffins can pretty much eat anything.” The younger ones especially were the least picky eaters in the whole Menagerie. She hugged the golden cub to her chest.

The griffin gurgled and flapped as if he wanted to be set down. He did seem fine, but Zoe had no intention of letting go of him. “Where did you find him?” she asked. “And how did you know he belonged here?”

“He was hiding in my room when I got home from school. And then he told me he lived here, with dragons, and so I asked him to bring me—”

“He
told
you? No way. Griffins can't talk to humans until they're a year old.” Zoe lifted one of the cub's wings to show the thicker feathers growing in underneath. “This litter's only four months old, which is why they're scattering feathers everywhere as their new ones grow in. And look at the color of his beak—that'll get darker as he gets older. Plus he'll get bigger, although they all grow at different speeds. Not to mention I was there when he cracked his egg, so I know how old he is. Point being, he couldn't have
told
you anything. Where did you really find him?”

“I'm not lying,” Logan said, sounding a bit hurt. “He was under my bed. And he does talk to me.” He paused, cocking his head. “He says to tell you he has a name now, and he wants you to call him Squorp like I do.”

“You can't call him Squorp!” Zoe cried, outraged. “That's the sound griffins make when they burp!”

“Mork!” Squorp declared passionately.

“Well, he likes it,” Logan said. He paused again. “He says to tell you he likes it better than Leo.”

Zoe sucked in a breath. She was the only one who ever called the cub that, when there was no one else around. Griffins usually announced their names after a year, once they could talk to people, but she'd been hoping Leo would pick . . . well, Leo.

“But Leo is noble and dignified,” she protested. “And Squorp is so—so—”

“True?” Logan suggested. “Funny
and
true?”

She looked down at the cub, who smiled his serene eagle smile at her. “Hmmm,” she said. Was it really possible? She'd never heard of griffin cubs talking to people. If they could, why didn't they talk to
her
? She was the one who read to them and fed them treats and dried their feathers for them when it rained.

“Can you believe this?” Logan said with a grin. “Can you believe we're standing here, next to a pair of unicorns, talking about what to call a baby griffin? A
griffin
, Zoe.”

She tried not to smile back. A stranger in the Menagerie was serious business. Serious, SNAPA-might-shut-us-down business. She was officially not allowed to get excited about maybe having someone new to talk to.

But what was she supposed to do—not talk to him?

“This is kind of my everyday life,” she said ruefully.

“Your everyday life IS AMAZING,” he said.

It had been a long time since Zoe had stopped to think about the amazing-ness of the Menagerie. “Well,” she said, “keep in mind it's a little less amazing when you're checking griffin cubs for ticks and trying not to get pecked.” She waved one hand at the massive dog behind her. “And you do not even want to know about hellhound pooper-scooping.”

“Zoe,” Logan said intently, as if she needed to be woken up. He pointed at Charlie. “Unicorns! Real, live unicorns!”

Cleo snorted from her stall. “I approve of your level of awe, young man,” she said. “Now if everyone could learn to bow when they enter, we'd be on the right track.”

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.”