Page 7 of A Malicious Menagerie
“This is the desert area of the menagerie,” Nathan intones as he ambles down the brick road. “In this section, you’ll find jackalopes, as you’ve already seen, but also Mongolian death worms and the Thunderbird.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply dumbly, stuck on how he saidtheThunderbird. As in,the only one?
“Each path that branches away from the carousel leads to a different area,” Nathan continues, oblivious to my shock, or maybe just apathetic to it. “Five total. The desert, the mountains, the woods, the jungle, and the aquarium.”
We pass another exhibit enclosed with high glass, and my frantic gaze scours the bleak landscape. There are no signs of movement, though the sand is patterned oddly with long, meandering hills that almost look like… worm tunnels.
“The Mongolian death worms,” I guess flatly, having never heard of them but remembering the absurd name from Nathan’s earlier list. That name might be more ridiculous than Sunny Shores Retirement Village.
“Extremely venomous,” Nathan warns sagely. “Not just to touch their skin, but from a distance as well. They spit venom when threatened. Or hunting. Or for any reason, really.”
“Charming,” I reply dryly even as a shudder of disgust travels the length of my spine.
“They’re not the worst of what the menagerie has to offer,” he says cheekily. “Let’s move on.”
We pass a short offshoot from the main path that Nathan tells me leads to the Thunderbird’s aviary, though he leads me past it and toward the back wall of the building. In keeping with the theme, the wall is painted with a desert motif in golds and reds with a stark blue, cloudless sky. The artist, whoever they were, has created a scene so lifelike that I have to reach out and touch the smooth surface to convince myself that I’m not about to be transported through a portal to the Wild West. The buttes and dunes glint with flecks of gold that I suspect might be real, and lonely cacti cast long shadows over the desolate landscape. “Amazing,” I breathe.
“This way,” Nathan orders, a tinge of impatience in his voice. I glance to my right to see him scanning a card against a sensor that blends perfectly into the artwork. There’s a quiet beep, and a door cracks open in the wall. Its borders are so seamlessly aligned with the rest of the wall that I never would have been able to pick it out without seeing it open.
As Nathan ushers me through the door, I glance up to admire the muralone last time and notice a small, black bubble set above the door. Freezing in place, I ask, “Is that… a camera?”
“Of course,” Nathan answers smoothly, gently nudging me forward with his hand at the center of my back. “Mr. Mathis prioritizes the security of his collection. However, you’ll notice that the cameras are only at the entrances and exits of the building. He stresses that there are no images of his creatures that might be hacked or sold to curious paparazzi. As a wealthy, powerful man, Mr. Mathis has quite a few photographers following him at any given time. What do you imagine that they would pay to have proof of his menagerie?”
Given the creatures that seem to live here, I would wager the bid for those kinds of photos would be in the tens of thousands. Maybe more.
Even though the cameras make me uneasy, it is nice to know that there aren’t any in the exhibits. The last thing I need is my boss or his controlled, composed assistant watching me trip over a worm tunnel.
Beyond the mural is a plain white hallway lined by windowless doors. Before I can ask where we are, one of the doors opens, and a man steps out. He’s maybe in his forties based on the gray threading his unruly dark hair, and his face is haggard and lined. His eyes are a watery blue underscored by puffy purple bags, his nose is bulbous at the end and red like a tomato, and his round chin is covered by at least two days’ worth of scruff. He blinks sleepily before heaving a weary sigh. “Thisis the new girl?”
“This is Ms. Carmichael—Anna—who will be your new coworker,” Nathan agrees, ignoring the man’s sour expression. He glances at me. “Ms. Carmichael, this is Mr. John Fields.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I chirp, fighting to keep a pleasant smile on my face as I offer my hand.
He looks at my hand, then my strained smile, then Nathan. “This is the best you could do?”
My desire to snark at him wars with my usual strategy to not rock the boat. My hand droops as I debate what to say.
“Ms. Carmichael is highly qualified and incredibly motivated,” Nathan argues smoothly.
Well, I’m one of those things, anyway.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” I grit out, my internal struggle settling out at pleasant words but an unpleasant tone. I wiggle my fingers to draw his attention back to how irritatinglyrudehe’s being.
He huffs another sigh but does eventually shake my hand. His limp grip and sweaty palm are reminiscent of a dead fish, and I fight not to wipe my hand on my pants after he lets go.
“I have some calls to make,” Nathan says, checking his watch. I raise one eyebrow. Calls? To whom? It’s probably nearly ten already. Oblivious to my skepticism, he continues, “I’m counting on you to get her oriented, John.”
Fucking fantastic. If John’s expression is anything to go by, he’s feeling a similar swell of dismay. “I’ve got a lot to get done tonight,” John hedges.
“I’m sure a tour won’t take too much time,” Nathan suggests, but really, it’s more of an order. “And then she can help you with your tasks. It’ll be the quickest way for her to learn.”
John grunts. “Fine.” He brushes past Nathan, accidentally-on-purpose shoulder-checking him on his way, and scans his own card to open the secret mural door into the desert. He glances back at me with one eyebrow raised impatiently.
“Charming,” I mutter under my breath. Nathan must hear me because his smirk makes a quick reappearance before his expression morphs back into one of bland, pleasant professionalism.
“So.” Nathan clears his throat. “What do you think? Are you comfortable proceeding with this job knowing the kinds of creatures that will be in your care?”
Am I ready to take care of jackalopes and the Thunderbird and who knows what else? Hell yes. Say what you will, but I was the kid who watchedJurassic Parkand still wanted to be a dinosaur vet. There’s just something about peeling back the curtain to get the kind of behind-the-scenes look that most people only dream about. And behind this curtain is the Wizard of Oz himself and not just the cheap imitation. “I still want the job,” I assure Nathan.
