Page 18 of A Malicious Menagerie (Fangs & Fables #1)

The Invitation

O ver the next couple of weeks, I volunteer to take the woods section of the menagerie, and John is more than happy to let me have it.

He can’t stand Fionn, the Mothman freaks him out, and he’d much rather hoist sharks into the sea serpent aquarium than scoop rotting fruit into a trash bag.

I don’t mind those things, so long as I get to see my wolf.

And since forgetting the divider once, I’ve never bothered with it again.

He always greets me by the door, and I spend the first couple of minutes rubbing his ears while I tell him about something rude John said or about Nan’s recent bout of flu that left me paralyzed with fear.

I also tell him about the good things, too.

Like the mama raccoon and her two babies that have come to visit a few nights to eat the cat food I leave out for them, and how I had time to reconnect with an old high school friend that I’m making plans to grab lunch with.

Whatever random thoughts that pop into my head, the wolf listens with rapt attention.

Meanwhile, I soak up the attention like a sad, needy sponge.

The wolf gives me a tour of his enclosure, which isn’t very large but is at least full of enough tall trees to give the illusion of privacy. There’s a small pond that burbles with fresh water from a filter and a boulder with an overhang that leaves room for a small den.

Still, every time I catch a glimpse of the iron bars through the trees, my stomach gives a nauseous lurch.

I can’t help but wonder where he came from and how he ended up here.

I also can’t help but imagine him roaming the wilds somewhere rugged and untamed, flowing through trees or over a snowy mountainside like the shadows he resembles.

I imagine there might be a pack there, too: a motley assembly of graceful creatures in every shade of black and silver and umber.

I start to wonder if he might be as starved for companionship as I am.

I was serious when I told him that he should be free, but Mathis’s warning acts as an effective deterrent to those kinds of thoughts.

Every time I start to imagine Fionn back home in Ireland or the wolf reuniting with a pack, Mathis’s words obliterate those daydreams like a wrecking ball.

“Then you understand that I will eliminate any threat to my very own Eden?”

Ugh. How did I get myself into this mess? I’ve trapped myself in a cage of my own making, with bars of duty, fear, and compassion rather than iron.

I’ve just finished visiting with the wolf and am musing over these thoughts when the sound of a low, rumbling voice further up the path draws my attention. Is that John? He doesn’t usually come to the woods on the nights that I’m here.

Curious, I head that direction and find myself in front of the kelpie enclosure.

I recognize Colby immediately by his red hair and imposing build.

I see him most nights, and though he’s always polite when I greet him, he hasn’t said much more than “hello” since we met.

I’d hoped to find an ally in him, but I gave up that hope when he made it clear he had no interest in the same.

Though I recognize Colby right away, it takes me a little longer to piece together who he’s speaking to.

The thing I notice first about the woman is her nudity.

Her skin is so pale it almost seems to glow in the shade of the trees.

Her hair, by contrast, is coal black and hangs in loose waves to the small of her back.

I’m struggling to sort out what a naked woman is doing inside the kelpie enclosure when I notice the white water lily tucked behind one of her ears.

It’s the same type of bloom that Fionn’s sister Ciara wears woven into her mane as a horse.

I hang back, not sure if I should approach.

As I debate, I watch Ciara say something to Colby before reaching out to wrap her fingers around his hand where he’s gripping one of the iron bars.

The ex-soldier doesn’t strike me as one for dramatic displays of emotion, but there is the slightest softening of his eyes at her touch.

Suddenly, my mind flashes back to the Encyclopaedia of Irish Folklore Colby was reading the night we met.

Mathis asked him if one of his creatures had prompted his reading, and I get the feeling I’m looking at his inspiration.

Ciara’s dark eyes flick my way, and she goes still when she notices me gawking a few yards away. She withdraws her hand quickly before stepping back, her human body already giving way to her pitch-black equine form. As she trots away, Colby aims a scowl toward me.

I clear my throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nothing to interrupt,” he grunts, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away to follow the path toward the back of the menagerie.

Not able to let it go, I scurry forward to fall in step beside him, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides. “It didn’t look like nothing,” I venture, hoping I’m not about to bypass ‘ally’ straight to ‘enemy.’

Colby only shrugs. “We talk sometimes. That’s not against Mathis’s rules.”

“And hold hands?” I ask slyly.

He shrugs again. “That’s not against the rules, either.”

Ugh. It’s like drawing blood from a stone. “So you’re… friends?”

“A guard can’t be friends with a prisoner,” he grunts, his expression darkening.

“Does that bother you? That she’s a prisoner?”

“You going to tell Mathis on me or what?” he asks abruptly, stopping to spin toward me.

Jeez , he’s tall. And, with him looming over me like that, very intimidating. I can imagine how his enemies felt facing him down in combat. Needing to defuse the situation, I snort skeptically. “Why would I tell Mathis anything? I’m no narc.”

“Even if he asks?” he presses. “Even if he asks about your grandmother again?”

“What if I tell you something Mathis doesn’t know about me? So we’re even?” I ask, my stomach swooping. Still, it will be worth the risk if I can get this man on my side. I hope.

He chews over my offer for a moment, a muscle ticking in his square jaw. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Ugh . This is harder than I thought it would be. Finally, I force out, “The wolf and I are friends. I don’t use the divider to feed him anymore.”

Colby just stares at me for a moment, weighing my words, before he nods curtly. “Okay. You keep quiet about Ciara, and I’ll keep quiet about the wolf.”

And, just like that, I’ve made myself an ally.

* * *

I enter the breakroom at the start of a shift to find Nathan lounging in one of the folding chairs by our scratched plastic table.

Somehow, he still looks like he’s holding court despite the chair’s rust-speckled legs and the dried coffee spilled on the table in front of him.

“Oh, hi,” I greet him, confused and a little concerned.

After all, the last time he visited, he needed me to put a kelpie’s arm back together.

“Ms. Carmichael.” Nathan stands and gives me a formal nod. “I trust everything is going well since our last phone conversation?”

Well enough that my exorbitant pay still makes doing my job worth it, anyway. Nodding jerkily, I rush to assure him, “Yes, everything has been great. John has been… well, he did teach me how to do all the tasks at the start, and I’m really getting the hang of things now.”

“That’s good to hear. You’re likely surprised to see me today. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Mathis.” His lips twist wryly in an expression I wouldn’t expect on his usually stoic, polite face. “As I so often am. In any case, he wanted me to give you this.”

Nathan reaches into his suit’s breast pocket and produces an envelope, which he holds out for me to take.

Even from the quickest brush of my fingertips, I can tell the paper is expensive, with a lustrous, pearlescent sheen to it.

I slide my finger under the flap carefully, loath to ruin the perfection, and pull out a card.

I quickly read the graceful calligraphy, and my eyebrows shoot up. “This is… an invitation? ”

“To one of Mr. Mathis’s galas here at the menagerie next weekend,” Nathan explains as he brushes an invisible bit of lint from his sleeve.

“He’s been impressed by your work and how quickly you’ve adapted to working here, and he wants to show his appreciation.

He is also hoping that you might help in educating his guests on the creatures here to elevate their experience.

After all, the happier the guests are, the more they’ll want to donate or bet on the silent auction items. This gala is to benefit the American Humane Society. ”

“Oh,” I reply dumbly. “That’s quite… nice of him.”

“Mr. Mathis is a charitable man,” Nathan agrees solemnly.

Never mind that he’s showing more goodwill toward some unknown strays than the people and animals directly under his care, I think with a mental snort. “Will John be there as well? He’s more experienced and knows more about the… creatures here.”

“John will be working behind the scenes. He has worked these galas before, and Mr. Mathis has found that he is more suited to caring for the animals and preparing the exhibits for the guests than for mingling.”

Translation: John is an unpleasant little troll.

“So,” Nathan continues, pulling me from my thoughts. “May I tell Mr. Mathis that you plan to attend? You will, of course, be compensated for your time in educating the guests.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know. I’d feel so out of place, and I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”

Nathan waves off my concerns. “Mr. Mathis will be more than happy to supply attire.”

I imagine something along the lines of a server’s uniform of white shirt and black pants, and I find myself nodding. “Okay. Sure. I’ll go.”

Nathan gives me a small smile. “Mr. Mathis will be glad to hear it. If you can provide your measurements, I’ll have your dress delivered to your home before the gala.”

… Dress?