Page 4 of A Malicious Menagerie (Fangs & Fables #1)

The Desert

“ T hey 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.

“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 said the Thunderbird. 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 mural one 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. “ This is 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 irritatingly rude he’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 watched Jurassic Park and 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.

“Excellent. Then I’ll leave your phone with the guard to collect as you leave,” Nathan assures me as he tugs at the cuffs of his shirt and prepares to leave.

“You mentioned that you don’t have a car.

We can lend you a company car while you’re employed with the menagerie.

John can point you that way at the end of your shift. ”

My jaw drops. First the unbelievable salary, and now a way to avoid taking two buses to get to this remote location? I’m getting that too-good-to-be-true feeling again. “Thank you.”

Nathan waves off my gratitude. “Can I answer any questions before I go?”

“Not yet,” I say slowly, thinking it over. “But if I do need to get hold of you, how would I do it?”

Quick as a flash, Nathan produces a business card from seemingly thin air and hands it to me. It’s made of thick, pearlescent cardstock with a simple design, just the double M logo above Nathan’s name and phone number. “Don’t lose that. The number is my work phone, which I have on me at all times.”

“What if you’re on vacation or something?” I ask as I tuck the card in one pocket.

He gives me an odd look, like the word is foreign or perhaps profane. “I’ll leave you in John’s capable hands,” he finally says before giving me a formal nod. “If you’ll excuse me…”

He heads the opposite way down the hallway toward the back of the building where I assume there’s another, probably less grand, exit.

I turn back to John, who motions at me impatiently.

“I don’t have all night.” Steeling myself for several hours of unpleasantness, I force my feet to follow him back into the desert.

John takes me back through the two exhibits I’ve already seen, but he adds more information than Nathan provided.

He explains the jackalopes’ diet of fresh vegetables and unlimited hay, which is strategically placed in locations close to the front of the exhibit to allow any guests to see them.

“Are there often guests?” I ask when he mentions that bit.

He grunts. “The boss likes to entertain.”

He repeats the warnings about the death worms and explains about the special gear that needs to be donned to feed the worms their diet of fecal material and rotting meat. “You mean, I’ll have to go in to feed them?” I ask worriedly.

“Sure, how else?” he grumbles. “But the suit stands up to the venom. Least, it has the couple times the damn worms have tried it on me.”

Well, I wanted danger, right? Seems I got it.

This time, John takes me down the side path to see the Thunderbird.

The aviary is built of thick iron bars shaped and painted to look like a vintage gilded birdcage, though it’s several times my height and probably half a city block in diameter.

Inside the cage is more sand, but built upon it is a small mountain of craggy yellow rock adorned with scraggly bushes.

While I peer around the enclosure, a sudden rush of wings and a piercing cry startles me into stumbling back.

The Thunderbird lands in a flurry of golden feathers and glinting black talons before advancing toward me, its wings spread to demonstrate its twelve-foot wingspan.

“Holy shit!” I blurt as it comes to a halt with its hooked beak just an inch away from the bars of the cage, its golden eyes hard and glinting with intelligence no normal bird should have.

It looks like a massive eagle, though its trailing gold and black tail feathers are more reminiscent of a peacock.

Meanwhile, its long, scaled legs covered in scant golden down remind me of burrowing owls that I’ve seen in nature documentaries.

“Yeah, he’s not a pleasant one,” John says jovially, obviously pleased by my fear.

Before I can comment, he startles me again by wheeling around and slamming his heavy work boot into the cage directly in front of the bird.

The Thunderbird gives an indignant shriek that reverberates like a clap of thunder and clicks his beak threateningly at John before beating his magnificent wings and taking to the air.

The size and power of those wings dredge up the sand, and I shield my eyes until the massive predator has disappeared above the mountain.

“What’d you do that for?” I ask, offended on the bird’s behalf. If I didn’t already dislike John, his casual cruelty would have sealed the deal.

“Have to teach these beasts who’s boss,” John growls. “Otherwise, they’ll start thinking of you as prey.”

It seems to me the Thunderbird would probably eat John just on principle, but I manage to keep my mouth shut .

“Alright, now we’ll go to…” A mechanical beep cuts him off, and he curses as he looks at his watch. “Look, I’m never going to get through everything I have to do if we have to tour this whole damn place. You’re on your own.”

“What?” I squawk. “I can’t just go wandering around on my own!”

“Why not?” John asks with a shrug. “It’s how I learned. You think the guy who did this before me gave a shit about teaching me?”

“I guess not,” I surmise sourly.

“You’re damn right he didn’t. Now, I’m headed to the aquarium to feed the sea serpent. After you’re done looking around, come find me and I’ll give you a job.”

My mind is so busy reeling at the words ‘sea serpent’ that I don’t come up with a clever response until John is out of sight. “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath. With one last wary look up at the mountain where the Thunderbird disappeared, I turn and head back toward the carousel.