by Lisa Mangum
Greggs clapped his hands, waking the creature. Its yellow eyes opened lazily, then the little dragon rose and stretched out its wings and legs.
“Just a little whelp. We’ve got a quite a few of ’em around here. They seem to prefer the unicorns. Cute little things just curl up on ’em and sleep all day.”
“That’s a dragon, right? Don’t dragons breathe fire?” Alice wondered. “Isn’t that dangerous for the unicorns?”
“Not these little guys.” Greggs reached over the gate and scratched the whelp on the head. The dragon rubbed Greggs’s hand affectionately. “Can only puff smoke every now and again. That is, when they aren’t sleepin’. And that’s about all they do.”
Greggs moved down to the next gate and opened it. Alice recognized the unicorn that had fallen from the sky the day before. It lay on a blanket, its ankle wrapped.
“How is she?” Alice asked.
“She’ll be fine in no time.”
They studied the unicorn. Its eyes watched them passively as a dragon whelp curled up by its chest.
“So that’s it? Those are my chores?” Alice asked.
“Well, not quite. I’ll handle the jackalopes today. Poor things are blind and have antlers that go on for miles. Get tangled in just about everything. Then there’s Glen, the turtle about the size of my living room. He mostly just burrows underground, though. Just gotta check on him every now and again, make sure he’s still breathin’. The donkeys can be a handful. Not real donkeys. I just call ’em that because they look like a cross between a dog and a monkey. They hang in the trees in the middle of the field out back. But I’ll show you all that later.” Greggs turned back to the unicorn. “Your job for the rest of the day is to dye this old girl black.”
Alice swallowed. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“It’s okay, I’ll do it with you. It’s really as easy as readin’ the back of the box.”
Greggs opened the box and handed Alice a pair of plastic gloves.
* * *
Every day except Sundays for the next three weeks, Alice met Greggs on his front porch at seven o’clock in the morning.
Greggs provided her with a pair of sturdy, leather cowboy boots, just as he promised. Every day, Alice would put on her boots and pick up the wooden goose eggs and deposit them on the back porch. She cleaned the unicorn stables and touched up the coats when purple started showing through. Charlies joined her on most days, their heads nipping at her calves. She learned to wear jeans early on, saving her legs from the constant slobber.
Alice became more comfortable with feeding the hydra. She lit the merlady’s Pall Malls without comment, watching the old, withering creature puff. Marilyn shrieked at her when she wanted another one, and Alice lit them all without complaint.
Wayne kept jumping from high places. Sometimes from the loft in the barn. Sometimes from the roof of the house. And every time, Alice picked up his surprisingly light body and took him to a soft, shady area to regain consciousness. She became fond of the strange thing and his determination to fly.
Alice helped untangle the jackalopes, checked up on Glen the giant turtle every few days, and put up with the donkeys’ antics.
The unicorn that fell from the sky recuperated quickly, with the help of daily injections of bute. Alice wrapped the sprain every few days, enjoying the excuse to spend time with the magnificent creature.
Greggs would walk around the farm, patting each of his creatures happily. The animals loved him and purred under his touch. When Charlies wasn’t following Alice, he was by Greggs’ side, pleading for scratches and adoration.
No new creatures had appeared since Alice had joined on as a farmhand. Every night, before Greggs smoked a cigarette with Marilyn at the lagoon, he’d ride out to the fence separating his land from Alice’s grandparents’ land. He’d wait an hour, and when no dark clouds appeared, he’d ride back.
After Independence Day, the coyote attacks picked up considerably. Farms to the south and to the west regularly reported dead or considerably torn up cattle, and the deaths kept creeping closer to Greggs’ farm.
Alice and Greggs spent four days reinforcing the fence. Alice spent so much time hammering, her hands still vibrated when she went to bed at night.
* * *
Just as he had promised, the mayor returned two weeks into July. And he was not alone.
Alice had just finished collecting the eggs. As she set the last one on the table, she heard rapping on the front door. She felt a sense of foreboding, as no one had called on Greggs since she started working on the farm. Knowing Greggs was out in the barn with the unicorns, Alice hurried to him.
“There’s someone at your door,” she called, unable to hide the alarm in her voice.
Greggs shuffled up to the house, Alice following close behind. Charlies tried to get through the back door behind them, but Alice nudged him with her foot, forcing the two-headed dog to stay in the backyard. Both faces whined in unison. “It’s to keep you safe, Charlies. Now hush up!”
They walked wordlessly to the front door. Turning back slightly to Alice, Greggs exhaled and opened the door.
Mayor Artie, pudgy as ever, stood in the doorway just outside the screen door.
“Told you I’d be back, John.”
“What’s this about, Artie? I’m in the middle of something.”
“So are we.” Artie turned to the side, revealing Sheriff Martell. The sheriff kept a thick, brown mustache and wore aviator sunglasses. His arms were muscled, and a tan line peeked out from his short-sleeved uniform. Behind the sheriff was a crowd of about twenty local farmers, all wearing scowls.
“What’s all this about, Sheriff?” Greggs asked.
“Afternoon, John. It looks like we have a problem.” The sheriff pointed to Gregg’s driveway. Alice squinted, just making out bloody cow parts lining the gravel road. A cow head lay closest to the front porch, its eyes watching the house lifelessly.
“Holy Hannah,” Greggs mumbled, covering his mouth.
“And it all points back here. To your farm full of creatures, John.” Artie smiled slyly.
“That’s not possible,” Greggs said, shaking his head. “Nothing I have could’ve done a monstrous thing like that.”
“And are we supposed to just take your word for that? Your family’s been keeping those creatures a secret for years. We need to know what’s back there, Greggs. For the safety of everyone and their livestock.” Artie turned back to the farmers. “Don’t you want to know what John Greggs has been hiding on this farm of his?”
They confirmed that they did.
Greggs looked at Alice by his side. His eyes looked old and watery. “It’s hopeless.”
“Show them,” Alice said boldly.
“They’ll take one look at ’em, and think they’re dangerous,” Greggs spoke quietly. “They won’t understand, kid.”
“Then we make them understand. I’ll make them understand,” Alice assured him. She opened the screen door and addressed the mayor, sheriff, and farmers. “Come on. I’ll show you the animals. You’ll see that nothing on this farm could’ve hurt those cattle.”
Alice led the people through Gregg’s living room and out the back door. Charlies whined at the unfamiliar faces, and Alice patted both of the dog’s heads.
“This is Charlies. Watch out, he’ll lick you until there isn’t a dry spot left on you.”
The farmers peered over each other’s shoulders. They stared at the two-headed dog, mouths agape. The mayor stood still, his arms crossed in front of his chest, sneering at the dog.
Alice smiled smugly. “Follow me. What you’re really here to see is in the barn.”
She led them to the fence and opened the gate. Charlies galloped next to a burly-looking farmer. The farmer patted their heads and chuckled, seeming to take an immediate liking to the dog.
Greggs put his leathery hand on the barn door. He looked at Alice, and she nodded at him. He slid the door open.
“Here’s where we
keep the unicorns,” Alice said, matter-of-factly. She walked up to the first stall and pet the unicorn’s mane.
Gasps sounded from the party.
“Is this really a … a …” a woman stammered.
Alice approached the woman, gently took her hand, and led her to the first stall. She placed the woman’s hand on the unicorn’s black mane.
“Yep. It really is a unicorn. See? Just as gentle as can be.”
The woman’s face lit up, and she watched the creature in awe.
The mayor yelled. “What in the world is that? There on that one’s back?”
All eyes landed on a little dragon whelp, which was licking itself unceremoniously on the backside.
Greggs cleared his throat. “That’s a little whelpling. Go ahead, they love gettin’ pet.”
The woman moved slowly toward the dragon whelp. She lifted her hand to the creature, and the whelp stood and brushed its body against her hand.
“Aw,” the woman cooed. “Look at you, so sweet.”
Their fears subsiding, the farmers gathered around the stalls, admiring the unicorns and the dragon whelps.
Alice smiled at Greggs triumphantly.
An older farmer who was petting a whelp looked over to the mayor. “You told us John had dangerous creatures back here, Artie.”
“These little things are as gentle as house cats,” the woman said, tickling a whelp’s back.
“Are we looking at the same things, here? Look at these freaks! Who’s to say they won’t kill something or someone if they got out?”
The old farmer jiggled the lock on the stable door in front of him. “Looks secure to me. And if they did get out, I don’t see what kind of harm they’d do anybody. And these things sure didn’t rip up my cattle. Those cuts were too clean.”
“Go ahead and have a look around if you’re still not satisfied, Artie. All the animals on this farm are safe, kind, and secure.” Greggs smiled at the mayor confidently.
The farmers looked around the barn, some going outside to look at some of the other creatures.
Mayor Artie looked around incredulously. Alice slipped behind him and slid the knife off his belt. She handed it to Greggs, who nodded at her knowingly.
“Artie.” Greggs motioned the mayor over.
The mayor’s face was red and sweaty with rage. “These animals need to be destroyed. They’re dangerous, and it’s just a matter of time before they kill again.”
“The way I see it, it’s only a matter of time before you kill again.”
“Don’t you wish you could prove that.” The mayor smiled.
“You and I both know what killed all those cattle.”
Artie sneered. “Yeah, one of your freaks here.”
“No, I don’t believe so.” Greggs looked to the mayor’s knife in his hands. “This is your knife, isn’t it?”
“Hey, where did you—”
“You’re always showin’ this thing around. Awful proud of it, aren’t you?” Greggs slid the blade out of the leather hilt. “It doesn’t look like you had a chance to clean it recently. I can just make out some blood in the ridges. Oh my, is that cow hair in some of that blood, there?”
Mayor Artie swallowed and balled his fists.
“I’ll tell them, Artie. I’ll tell these folks their own mayor’s been cuttin’ up their cattle, just so he can get a peek at my animals. And now you’ve seen ’em. You’re lookin’ at my big secret. Now what do you say you stop this whole thing between us? Let sleepin’ dogs lie?”
Artie relaxed his fists, staring at his bloodied hunting knife. “All right. I’ll leave you alone.” Artie pointed his finger in Gregg’s face. “But if anything happens to anyone visiting this freak show you call a zoo, you better believe I’ll be all over you like white on rice.”
“And so will I,” Greggs said, holding up Mayor Artie’s knife. “You’ll leave me, Alice, and this zoo alone, or everyone will hear what you’ve done.”
Mayor Artie swept his hand across his sweaty brow. He nodded once and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Alice called. “Don’t you think you should say something about the dead cattle and all those cow parts on Mr. Greggs’ driveway?”
Greggs held up the mayor’s knife. “What’s this secret worth to ya?” He winked at Alice. She chuckled, remembering the first time they met when the unicorn fell from the sky.
Artie wheeled around and faced the farmers. “For all you still here, I just wanted to formally apologize to John. I was wrong.” He flashed a contemptuous look at Greggs, and then turned back to the people. “You all can still count on me to track down the beast that killed your cattle. I’ll find it, don’t you worry about that.”
The farmers watched Artie skeptically as he walked out of the barn. He didn’t look back at Alice or Greggs.
Alice threw her arms around Greggs, and Greggs patted her back. “You’re just what this place needs, kid. Someone who believes in it. Someone who thinks these creatures ought to be loved and admired, and not kept a secret. Now, c’mon. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“What do you mean?” Alice asked, pulling away from Greggs.
“I mean we’re gonna reopen The Greggs Family Zoo of Odd and Marvelous Creatures. You and me—whaddaya say, kid?”
Alice looked at the remaining farmers in the barn. They laughed with one another, petting the unicorns and the dragon whelps while they chatted. The joy on their faces was undeniable. Alice even caught a glimpse of Wayne in the rafters, watching the people. She loved the farm more than she had loved anything else.
“You belong here, kid,” Greggs said, smiling proudly.
“I think I do.”
“All right, then. Let’s show these farmers the rest of the animals.” Greggs started toward the door. “And tomorrow, we begin renovations. I need you here at six o’clock sharp, and not a minute later. We’ve got plenty of work ahead of us.”
Alice smiled as they walked out of the barn. “I’ll be here. Six o’clock. Not a minute later.”
***
Ménagerie Violette
Colette Black
A fantastical medley had come to life, the diverse array of fae, werewolves, leprechauns, vampires, and others, including some sorceresses like myself, paraded down Paris’s Champs-Élysées. I stood amongst the crowd, observing the spectacle’s belly slither onward, its tail not far behind. The beast’s rowdy head began to circle the still-incomplete Arc de Triomphe, cymbals clanging and trumpets blaring in time with the supernaturals’ acrobatics.
My father would be furious if he knew I’d come, but at seventeen, I was of age, and he had no right to deny me attendance to such a popular event. And if I succeeded, the name Floressa Pietregalla would be an inspiration to sorceresses the world over. The thought gave me a little thrill as I nestled more determinedly into the surrounding crowd.
The people smelled of sweat and acrid perfumes, but the scent wafting from the street held even less appeal. The majority of supernaturals exuded chemicals that reminded humans of fresh orchards, but to a sorceress they all smelled of rotting fruit. I gave thanks to whatever power had created my kind that I could emit any perfume I desired, sweet or foul, enticing or repugnant.
For now, I chose to have no smell at all. The better to observe while remaining unobserved. I did so without awe, though I was disturbed at the participants’ willingness to display themselves like circus animals. Unlike the surrounding mortals only recently made aware of the uncomfortable veracity of their legends, I focused solely on claws and implements. Someone would be murdered tonight, and the murderer was a supernatural.
A male faerie doffed a top hat nearly half his size. Meant, perhaps, to compensate for his lack in height? He spread incandescent wings through the slits in his frock coat, vaulted into the air, and performed a quadruple somersault before size and gravity brought him to an unsteady landing. The crowds roared, but the young man’s eyes shifted toward the young lady to his right. Demure as a comtesse in our own Louis XV
III’s court, she averted her gaze. With porcelain skin that made faeries the envy of every courtier, she turned rosy pink along her high cheekbones.
“The ol’ fop of a fairy managed a nice trick there, I do say.”
Recognizing Jack of Krinlock’s voice as he came beside me, I suppressed a sigh. I meant to give him my attention for but a moment, however he presented a stunning form in a chestnut redingote coat snug to his wide shoulders, tapering to his narrow waist, then draping in slim folds to his knees over dark trousers. It accented brilliantly with a well-tailored waistcoat and simple cravat held in place by a single pearl pin. He topped the ensemble with a d’orsay hat of conservative height and sensual curves. With his stature, he needed neither tall hats nor padded coats, for he filled the less extensive versions admirably.
He returned my observations with intelligent eyes that bowed to no one and would not be dictated to by the opinion of others. It was something I liked about Jack. I pursed my lips at his all-knowing smile, set in unusually tanned skin for an Englishman, framed by a quite ordinary mop of brown hair accented with less-than-ordinary streaks of reddish-blond that followed into his rugged sideburns.
I supposed him to be less informed concerning the fae, to think a simple trick would attract a faerie lady’s attention. “La, monsieur. Most fae find physical displays of prowess, while they are being watched by mortals, stuck as they are at full size, embarrassing. I do not think his efforts accomplished what he had hoped.”
“Would you mean the attention of the woman with the becoming mauve dress and the ruffled collar?”
Turning back to the parade, I watched with surprise as the fae woman sidled close to the man, the disparity between their wings emphasizing the woman’s extremely petite frame. Tilting her mauve parasol to one side, the lace edge fluttered in the slight breeze below its sharp ebony tip. She took the young man’s arm, the black-patterned hem of her cone-shaped skirt brushing against his ankles.
Jack smirked. “Come now, Miss Pietregalla, even you cannot dispute love when it is right in front of your eyes.”
I didn’t miss the double meaning, as he was standing before my eyes more than the fae couple. Since my coming-out soiree a year ago, despite all my efforts to show a distinct lack of interest in any mortal, Monsieur Jack Krinlock, two years my senior, had become an infrequent suitor. Since my seventeenth birthday a month ago, infrequent had turned to persistent.