Page 6 of A Malicious Menagerie
The brick path forms a circle in its center before branching away like spokes on a wheel with the carousel as its axle. Where those paths lead is impossibleto tell as thick foliage grows up between the spokes in a dazzling display of emerald leaves and vivid flowers. The whole mess should look wild and overgrown, but as I stare, my eyes begin to pick out patterns of swirls and spirals and fleurs-de-lis. The overall effect is dizzying and beautiful, and I’m transported to another time and place where horses drew carriages and people could pay a penny to see a real live elephant.
“Why, hello there.”
Startled, I jump a foot in the air before looking around frantically for the source of the voice. Finally, my eyes pick out a man from among the stampeding herd of legendary beasts frozen forever in a gallop. He’s older—in his sixties, maybe—but still cuts a fine figure in a fitted black sweater and pressed chinos. His silver hair is thick and parted tidily to one side, a well-groomed mustache adorns his upper lip, and fine lines radiate from the corners of his eyes. Those lines would make him seem to laugh often if the rest of his face weren’t uncannily smooth. It’s almost as if he had the rest of his wrinkles erased but purposefully left the laugh lines to look more approachable and distinguished all at once. He’s a handsome man whom I might expect to see in a classic black-and-white Hollywood film. Absently, I wonder if he’s related to Nathan, or if he just surrounds himself with pretty things.
After all, I have no doubt that this is the big boss—Mr. Mathis himself. It’s evident in the way he carries himself, brimming with the ease and confidence of a man secure in the fact that all he surveys belongs to him. My assumption is further confirmed when Nathan exclaims, “Mr. Mathis!” and brushes past me to stand at attention in front of the man in question.
“Hello, Nathan,” Mr. Mathis greets him cheerily, his voice smooth and jovial. His manner is pleasant, but when he turns sharp black eyes on me, I feel like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Who do we have here?”
“Ah, yes, this is Ms. Anna Carmichael.” Nathan backtracks to take my elbow and gently but firmly leads me the final few yards to the edge of the carousel. “The new caretaker.”
“A pleasure, Ms. Anna,” Mr. Mathis says, resting one hand on the thick, scaly neck of the red dragon beside him. “It’s good to have you here.”
“It’s good to be here,” I reply automatically, a knee-jerk politeness. Searching for something more meaningful to say, I add, “What I’ve seen so far is lovely. It takes my breath away.”
Mathis’s eyes glitter with pride. “That is so nice to hear. It may be a pet project of mine, but I spared no expense.” He motions with his hand to the silent carousel. “Tell me, which is your favorite creature?”
Why does this feel like a test? I quickly survey my options. In addition to the mounts I’ve already spotted, I note a centaur with a gray spotted hide and a masculine beauty even the Renaissance masters would have struggled to envision, a griffon with glittering obsidian talons and intricately carved tawny feathers, a horse the color of sea glass with a curling fish-like tail, and a grotesque creature that looks to be made of many animals stitched together. Still, my eyes keep gravitating back toward the ebony wolf and his amber eyes, sparkling with so much intelligence that they almost seem human. “The wolf, I think,” I reply at last.
“An excellent choice,” Mr. Mathis replies with a satisfied nod. He pats the neck of the dragon. “Though I’m partial to this fellow myself.”
“He’s beautiful,” I offer, and he is. He brings to mind soaring and freedom and cathedrals made of granite stone and the smell of ozone.
Still, my wolf makes me think of the scent of soft loam and petrichor, the delicate brush of new spring leaves against my cheeks, and looking up at the canopy as jade light dapples my skin. The earthy, essential feeling of returning to the woods after a long time away. It’s not glamorous, but it is cozy and invigorating all at once.
“Yes,” Mr. Mathis agrees wistfully, tracing the edge of one leathery wing with a finger. “If only dragons weren’t all extinct. Maybe then I could feel that my collection was finally complete.”
Is he joking or senile? Hoping it’s the former, I manage a chuckle, and he shoots me a knowing look. “Well, I’ll have to be content with what I’ve managed to acquire… and what I might realistically acquire in the future. Oh, but I suspect I’m keeping you from your tour.” He steps down from the carousel in front of me and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. His dark eyes are alight with a childlike excitement, and I wonder if I misjudged him a moment ago. He seems more like a kid in a candy shop than a manipulative aristocrat. “If you ever need anything, Nathan knows how to get hold of me. Otherwise…” Here he spreads his arms wide to encompass the carousel, the paths to parts unknown, and the breadth of this place in general. “Welcome to Mars Mathis’s Mystical Menagerie!”
Well, that’s cute if a bit over the top. Before I can puzzle over what makes the menagerie so ‘mystical,’ Nathan motions for me to follow him. “This way, then. I’m glad you were able to meet Mr. Mathis, but it’s getting late. We should find John and see about that tour.”
We take the path directly around the carousel and across from the entrance. As we go, the path begins to meander, and the garden fades into a desert theme with golden sand, the occasional cow or horse skull, and an assortment of cacti ranging from squat and adorned with bright flowers to tall and austere. The air even begins to take on a hot, arid quality, suggesting some kind of local climate control.
When we reach a part of the “desert” that is penned in with a clear glass wall that reaches above my head, I slow, curious if this is an exhibit. It takes a minute for my eyes to pick out movement, and I zero in on a pair of small creatures a few yards away. At first, I identify them as the kind of rangy brown hares you’d expect to see in the desert, and I’m confused. Are the rabbits the exhibit? Or part of the decor the same way the animal skulls and spiky desert plants are?
As I consider both options, my eyes travel down their long ears and freeze. Growing proudly from between those ears are branching, bony spikes that can’t be anything other than antlers.
“What… how…” I stutter, trying to explain these creatures as anything other than…
“Jackalopes.” Nathan steps up beside me and peers through the glass. “Cute, aren’t they? Straight from the wilds of Wyoming.”
And, suddenly, I realize: the problem here isn’t that the animals are illegal so much as that they’re mythological.
Welcome to the menagerie, indeed.
4
The Desert
“They can’t be real,” I mumble, unable to look away from those proud, bony crowns. Am I hallucinating? Do I have brain damage from inhaling too much floor polish? Did they glue plastic antlers to some hapless bunnies?
“I assure you, Ms. Carmichael, they are,” Nathan responds. Until this moment, Nathan has been carefully professional in all of our interactions. Now, the slightest hint of a smug smirk tugs at one corner of his perfect lips. “I told you that Mr. Mathis’s collection was rare and unique. Now you see why. These jackalopes may be the most common of the creatures that he has acquired over the years.”
“Common?” I squeak, nearly choking on the word. Oh my God, he’s serious. Those are real jackalopes.
“Relatively,” he allows, that smirk growing a few millimeters. He turns to meet my eye. “Want to see more?”
Unable to speak with all the white noise buzzing in my head, I can only nod and follow him down the path, casting one more look back at the impossible hares.
