Page 32 of A Malicious Menagerie
I give him a surreptitious wave and a small smile, but there’s none of the usual wolfish grin or quick tail wag that he normally gifts me. Instead, his shoulders are rigid, and he sits low on his haunches as if he’s ready to launch himself forward at a moment’s notice. His gaze pinballs from one rich gala-goer to the next, his expression fixed and wary. When one of the men accidentally (or purposefully?) brushes against my back when he leansforward to see the wolf more clearly, he snarls in a way I’ve never seen before, every one of his jagged white teeth on display beneath his corrugated muzzle. The sound that rips from his chest has me stepping back, bumping into the man who had come up behind me. Presumably to steady me, he wraps an arm around my waist, his thumb brushing perilously close to the underside of my breast. It’s at that point that the wolf attacks.
He throws his bulk at the iron bars between us, his body moving so fast he’s little more than a shadowy blur. The weight of his body hitting the bars produces a reverberating, metallicclangthat causes the man behind me to flinch and spring away, abandoning me to fend for myself. Still, I can’t complain; though his snarl startled me, I’d rather face my wolf than any of the predators currently at my back. The wolf fits his muzzle between the bars, growling and snapping his teeth with a bone-chillingclack. All I want is to go to him, to run my fingers over the slope of his forehead to his ears the way he likes.
But if I do that, there will be ten witnesses to see that the wolf treats me differently, that he and I are friends. And there’s something vulnerable about that, about these men—frankly, theseenemies—knowing that we care about each other.
“He seems worked up,” I manage at last. I force myself to back away from my wolf even though every instinct in my body is screaming out to soothe him. “Let’s move on for now. Maybe we can come back around and talk about him later.”
As I lead the guests away, the wolf lets out an agonized howl, and I know, deep in my bones, that he’s calling to me. Though it causes a physical ache to bloom in my chest, I force myself to keep going, needing to protect him the only way I can.
The kelpies are in the pond, only their unnerving eyes and their tapered ears visible above the water. Ciara remains hidden, her dark coloring helping her to blend into the murky depths. Fionn, on the other hand, lifts his head above water to give a creepy, sharp-toothed grin. My group watches, enthralled, as he pulls himself from the pond and onto the muddy bank, water running off his sea-green coat in cascades. As he approaches thefront of the enclosure, he picks up speed until his trotting hooves shake the ground and cut deep curves into the soil.
When it looks like he might not stop, the men all stagger back, one or two shouting in alarm. Before Fionn can collide with the bars, he abruptly transforms, the shift coming over him from one heartbeat to the next. As he catches himself with his hands wrapped around the iron bars, he gives us a vicious grin.
“Anna,” Fionn purrs, his tone sultry but cutting. “Who are your friends?”
Glancing back at the ‘friends’ in question, I fight to hide a petty grin at their fear. “Mathis’s guests. For his gala.”
“Here to admire the ‘beasts,’ I suppose,” Fionn surmises, his tone almost teasing but something violent lurking in his silvery eyes.
“Are you actually going to argue with me that you’re not a beast?” I ask lightly. “Are you going to lie to me and tell me you wouldn’t happily gut our guests like fish?”
“Don’t goad him!” Chad Smarman hisses, but I’m having too much fun after all the unpleasantness these men, and especially Smarman, have put me through tonight.
Fionn makes a production of looking the men up and down before giving a dismissive flick of his hand. “I don’t like my meat so fatty.”
I snort. “Hear that, everyone? You’re safe from our kelpie.” I shoot an amused smirk at Fionn. “Do you want to tell the class a little about kelpies, or should I do it?”
“Gobshite, all of it,” Fionn grumbles.
“All of it?” I raise my eyebrows questioningly. “Are you saying your people don’t use glamour to lure humans to a watery grave and eat them?”
He grins again. “Well, alright, maybe notallof it is gobshite.”
“Maybe one more demonstration?” I suggest. Fionn gives a lazy salute before melting back into his horse form. He stares down the group with his pale eyes, and the men murmur nervously to one another. Once Fionn’s happy that the guests are adequately creeped out, he gives a snort and a quick swish of his tail before trotting back to rejoin his sister in the water.
Bolstered by my double act with Fionn, I lead everyone on to the centaurexhibit. What I never realized, since they’ve always proven so elusive, is that there are actually two centaurs—the male I saw the first night, but also a female. Like her male counterpart, her features are otherworldly, her wary eyes a deep mahogany that is stark against her milk-pale skin and alabaster mane. Her equine body is covered in fine white hair with brown spots across her rump, and I recognize the pattern as leopard appaloosa. Where the male centaur—stallion?—has a broad torso, hers is slim, with narrow shoulders and a tapered waist. Her long, pale hair covers her breasts, which earns more than a few disgruntled comments from the men, and seriously? When faced with a creature of myth and legend that artists have reverently carved and painted for centuries, they’re annoyed because her tits aren’t out?
Chivalry is truly dead, and humanity is doomed.
Irritated, I grit out, “Centaurs find their origins in Greek mythology. They are thought to be descended from Ixion, the king of Lapiths, and Nephele, a cloud nymph. They are known to be powerful warriors and to possess great wisdom.”
The centaurs both watch us warily, their equine ears twitching, neither trying to speak this time. Not that I can blame them.
Ready for this night to be over, I gloss over the Mothman, telling them about his ties to omens and disasters. I may falsely lead them to believe that laying eyes on him will guarantee that bad luck will befall them, rather than that he might just reveal the bad things that are already slotted to occur. Still, the lie certainly has them giving him a wide berth, and I can’t be mad about finishing this farce of a tour.
17
The Vampire
The universe finally sends me a gift in the form of an announcement over the hidden loudspeaker system. “Hello, esteemed guests,” comes the same pleasant female voice as before. “I hope you have enjoyed exploring Mars Mathis’s Mystical Menagerie. Your host asks that you join him by the vampire exhibit in the woods section in ten minutes to announce the winners of the last gala’s silent auction.”
I stiffen at the mention of meeting by the vampire, but she hadn’t been there. Plus, the sooner we finish announcing the auction winners, the sooner I can get home to my bed. I just want to bury my head under my pillow and try to forget about this whole miserable evening.
I lead my group back the way we came toward the vampire enclosure. When we pass by the wolf, he’s calmer than before, standing stock still at the front of his cage with only his amber eyes moving to track us—or, more accurately, me. I give him another small smile, and this time, so subtle I might have missed it if I didn’t know to look for it, he gives me a minute wave of his tail.
Relief blossoms through me at his small sign. He’s okay. We’re okay.
A small crowd has already gathered on the path in front of the vampire exhibit, and there’s a perceptible thrill in the air, a hum of anticipation and frenetic glee. The electric undercurrent sets my teeth on edge, though I don’t quite know why. All I know is that every part of this night has been unpleasant. I can’t believe this next event will be anydifferent.
