He shook his head.
“Have you figured it out?” she asked.
“Me?” he said. “I don’t know anything. I’m just tying my shoe.”
“Hmmm,” she said, glancing skeptically at his sneakers. “Did they say something about feathers?”
“Yeah, but it couldn’t have been a bird. Birds don’t eat chili,” Logan said. “I mean—right?” She was staring into the cafeteria as if she wasn’t really listening.
“Go on, shoo,” she said, waving at him. Relieved, he fled down the hall.
Mr. Christopher was giving a speech about polynomials when Logan got back, so he slipped into his seat and tore a piece of paper out of his notebook.
Something ate all the food in the cafeteria, he wrote. Doesn’t sound like it could have been a dog, though. Maybe a bear? Nothing much happening now, just grown-ups shouting. He folded the note, and when Mr. Christopher wasn’t looking, he tossed it onto Zoe’s desk.
She read it, groaned softly, and clunked her head down on her folded arms. Which wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting.
Logan concentrated on picking loose scraps of paper out of his notebook’s spiral binding. It wasn’t like he really needed to be friends with weird Zoe Kahn anyway. She was constantly falling asleep in class and making up wild stories about why her homework wasn’t done. Even if the teacher couldn’t tell she was lying, Logan could.
Her clothes were always ripped or stained, and she acted like she didn’t even care. She mumbled to herself and bit her nails and looked worried all the time. She barely spoke to anyone but Blue, who was mysteriously friends with her even though he could have hung out with anyone.
Logan didn’t need a friend that badly. Did he?
It was a relief to get home after a long day of boring classes and boring lunch, most of which he spent thinking about places in Xanadu where a dog might hide. He wheeled his bike into the garage and let himself into the house.
“Purrs?” he called.
“Rrrreow,” she answered from under the couch.
“Still acting crazy?” he asked, grabbing a Gatorade from the kitchen. “Boy, something really spooked you, didn’t it?”
“RRRRRRRRRRRREOW.”
There was another note from his dad on the kitchen counter. Busy work weekend ahead, it said. Sorry I’ll be out so much. Pizza and the Bears game Sunday night? Lots of leftovers in the fridge when you get hungry. Call if you need me.
Logan knew his dad’s new job with the wildlife department kept him busy, and he liked that his dad trusted him to be on his own. But he was pretty sure some of those extra “work” hours were actually spent searching for Mom. After all, the last postcard from her—all lame excuses and good-byes—had been mailed from Cheyenne, Wyoming. It wasn’t a coincidence that Dad had suddenly moved them here a month after it arrived. They never talked about it, but obviously Dad was hoping to find her and change her mind.
That wasn’t going to happen, though. His mom had always liked traveling more than being at home. She’d barely slowed down to eat dinner even when she was home. She wasn’t the kind of mom who was into family game nights and bike rides, even if she loved Logan and his dad. Logan had always felt like she had a duffel bag packed and ready to go, so he shouldn’t have been surprised or hurt when she finally didn’t come back.
He was, though.
Who broke up with their family by postcard?
Still, lots of his friends in Chicago had only one parent. For most of them it was the dad who’d left and the mom who’d stayed. Or the dad who’d never been there in the first place. Or the dad who was there but acted more like an extra couch cushion than a person.
So really, Logan was lucky. At least he had a dad who made burritos and shot hoops with him in the driveway and tried to read the same books Logan did.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about this.
“Okay, Purrs,” he said, “I’m going to feed Mr. and Mrs. Smith, if you want to come watch.” Normally Purrsimmon loved to sit on his desk and stare ominously at his mice while Logan fed them. But today she refused to come out from under the couch.
With a shrug, Logan went into his room, dropped his backpack, and checked on the mouse cage. Mr. and Mrs. Smith were still huddled under their pile of wood shavings. Their small pink noses twitched at him anxiously.
“Poor little guys,” Logan said, picking up their food container. “What’s got you so—” He paused. “That’s weird.” The container felt much lighter than it had that morning. He pulled off the top of the canister and peered inside.
It was completely empty.
“What the . . . ,” Logan muttered. “Guys, who ate all your food?” And then put the lid back on?
“SQUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOORP.”
Logan froze. That was a noise he had definitely never heard before. And it had come from somewhere in his room.
He turned around slowly, his heart pounding.
That’s when he saw the tail stretched out along his carpet, sticking out from the trailing edge of his comforter. A long, golden, furry lion’s tail.
There was a monster under his bed.
THREE
It couldn’t be a lion. There weren’t any lions in Wyoming. Right? Maybe cougars, but those didn’t have tails like that.
Logan grabbed the baseball bat that was leaning inside his closet door. Cautiously he edged a bit closer, then crouched down and peered under the bed.
The thing had its eyes closed. The front half of it looked like a giant golden eagle, wings and beak and all. The rest of its body was furry, with sharp lion claws on its four paws.
A bolt of fear shot through him, followed immediately by relief. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Something else must have made the noise. And this must be some kind of weird stuffed animal his grandparents had sent for him. Sometimes Grams forgot that twelve-year-olds wanted iPods and video games and dogs, not kid toys.
But what kind of animal was a bird at one end and a lion on the other? He’d never seen a stuffed toy like that before.
Well, whatever it was, at least he could be sure that it was absolutely, one hundred percent not real.
The creature’s eyes popped open.
“Mork!” it declared.
Logan slammed backward into the closet door and dropped the baseball bat. It was alive! He was about to be eaten by a . . . by a lion-eagle thing!
“Mork!” the creature warbled again, clacking its beak at him. At least it didn’t sound threatening. In fact, the noises it made were kind of cute. “Mork! Mork!”
“I’m asleep,” Logan said. “I’m dreaming. I’m hallucinating.”
“Mork!” the thing under the bed insisted. “MORK!”
Logan closed his eyes. “Logan, you’re imagining this. There must have been something weird in the pizzas they got us for lunch. There is definitely not a monster under your bed morking at you right now.”
Loooooooogan!
Was that a voice inside his head? Logan peeked. The creature’s eyes were dark and huge, watching him with bright curiosity. They looked exactly the way he’d always imagined his future dog’s eyes would look.
“Was that you?” Logan asked.
Logan hear me?
“Um—” Logan started.
“Mork!”
His bed shuddered and shifted as the animal slowly crawled out into the open and Logan got his first good look at it. It was smaller than he’d thought—no bigger than a Labrador puppy. Soft golden wings unfurled from its furry back. Long lion claws dug into his gray carpet as it shook itself, lion tail lashing. The feathers on its head and chest blurred into fur for the rest of its body. Its hooked beak went clack clack clack as it snapped at the air. A crest of golden feathers fanned out around its head like a tiny mane.
Logan realized he had seen a drawing of something like this before, on the cover of a Diana Wynne Jones fantasy book. It looked like a griffin . . . but those didn’t exist.
It s
hook itself again and bounded over to him. Before he could scramble away, it leaped into his lap. He winced as its claws sank through his jeans, but it didn’t attack. It tucked its tail around itself and sat down. Its dark eyes stared at him earnestly, and when it head-butted his chest, he couldn’t resist reaching out to pat it.
“Moooooooork,” the creature gurgled in delight, wriggling closer to him and curling into a ball just like his cat. Logan stroked its soft fur—even softer than Purrsimmon’s—and carefully touched one of its folded wings. This didn’t feel like a dream or a pizza-induced hallucination.
“What the heck are you?” he asked. “Some kind of government experiment?” Scientists were always putting plants together and making weird fruits like pluots, after all. Maybe they could make eaglions as well.
The creature opened its mouth, but instead of saying “Mork” again, it let out a loud “SQUUOOORP.”
Logan laughed. “So may I call you Squorp?” he asked.
Squorp! chirped the voice in his head. Good name! Squorp like Squorp! Logan! Listening!
“That’s right,” Logan said. “I’m Logan. You’re Squorp.”
Squorp eat! It nipped at one of Logan’s fingers, and he pulled his hand away with a yelp.
“Okay, but not me!” he said. “You’re the one who ate all the mouse food, aren’t you?”
Squorp hungry, said the creature, giving him the saddest eyes an eagle face could muster. Small scritchy food very very gross. Its face brightened. Eat small scritchies instead?
“No,” Logan said sternly. It was lucky the lid on his terrarium was locked down to protect Mr. and Mrs. Smith from Purrsimmon. “No eating my mice. They’re my friends.”
Squorp nestled closer to him and leaned his head on Logan’s chest. Squorp your friend.
“Aww,” Logan said, scratching Squorp’s head.
Squorp much better friend than small scritchies. Small scritchies unnecessary. And delicious!
“NO,” Logan said. “We’ll get you hamburger instead. Okay? You’ll like that much better, I promise.”
Suddenly Squorp bolted upright and clacked his beak frantically. Uh-oh! The little creature leaped onto Logan’s bed and burrowed into the bedclothes, shedding golden fur all over his sheets.
“What?” Logan asked, standing up. “What happened?”
“Mork!” Squorp yelped. With a frantic glance at the window, he rolled and dug the sheets around until he was just a big lump under the dark blue comforter.
Logan peeked out the window, then ducked quickly out of sight.
Zoe and Blue were standing right outside, staring at the low hedges around his house.
FOUR
“More feathers!” Zoe’s anxious voice floated through the window. “That’s all we’re ever going to find. Maybe this is my fault. SNAPA’s going to shut us down and Dad will ground me for life and everyone will have to be relocated and I’ll never see you or Captain Fuzzbutt or Mooncrusher ever again.”
“On the plus side, maybe they’ll send Keiko back to Japan,” said Blue.
“This isn’t funny, Blue!” Zoe paused. “Well, okay, that would be the one upside.”
“We don’t know it’s your fault,” Blue said kindly. “And it’s not so bad. No SNAPA officials are out hunting them yet, and we haven’t seen any wildlife guys stomping around investigating. We just have to find them all before Sunday.”
Them? Logan glanced at the Squorp-shaped lump on his bed.
“Why aren’t you more worried?” Zoe asked. “If SNAPA shuts us down, who knows what’ll happen to your dad. Or where they might make you live.”
There was that word again. Snappa, not Snapple, Logan thought.
Blue shrugged. “I only worry about things that have actually happened. If I started worrying about all the things that might happen, I’d be . . . well, I’d be you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Zoe said. She sighed. “This one must be long gone.”
“Let’s check in at home,” Blue said.
“Okay,” said Zoe, sounding defeated. “I still have to do my chores anyway. But if any of them are spotted . . .”
“I know,” Blue said. “It’ll be the end of the world. Again.”
Logan heard them pick up their bikes and pedal away. His head was spinning.
Squorp poked his beak out from under the covers. Worry-Cub gone? his voice warbled in Logan’s head.
“Worry-Cub?”
Only a cub, but worries and worries and double-checks and worries more. Always flapping her paws but not trying to fly. Probably losing her fur. Bites her claws, too.
That sounded like Zoe, all right.
“Squorp,” Logan said. “You’re Zoe’s dog!”
The griffin threw off the comforter and ruffled his tawny feathers into an indignant fluff on his chest. Squorp no such thing! Muscles and Killer and Jaws and Sheldon all dogs! Captain Fuzzbutt all Zoe’s! Squorp neither Zoe’s NOR dog! Squorp all mine own and ALL GRIFFIN!
“Well, okay,” Logan said. “But you’re the thing she’s looking for. Aren’t you?”
Squorp studied his talons intently. Ohhhh, only one of them.
“How many others are there?” Logan asked.
The griffin squirmed. Two brothers and three sisters. He swiveled his head around as if he expected them to pop out of the closet. Miss them! Well, most of them. Not Clink. She bossy.
“Six griffins wandering around Xanadu? No wonder Zoe’s freaking out,” Logan said. He leaned over his computer and typed snappa into Google, hoping for a clue. “I bet that’s even worse than losing a dog. Man, I shouldn’t have let them leave all upset like that. We have to get you home.”
Noooooo! Squorp flung himself back under the bed. No turn me in! No send me back! Free at last! Free at last!
Logan hesitated. He could imagine all kinds of terrible places where griffins might be kept in captivity, studied like lab rats or trapped like dangerous wild animals. Then again, Zoe and Blue didn’t exactly seem like evil government scientists.
Google said “snappa” was a drinking game. He guessed that wasn’t what Zoe was talking about. Logan tried typing “snapa” instead.
“The School Nutrition Association of Pennsylvania,” he muttered, frowning at the screen. “Somehow I don’t think that’s it, either.”
So Googling wasn’t going to help him. He looked down at Squorp again. The griffin cub was flopped out with his front paws over his beak, making what he probably thought were despairing noises.
“Is it so bad where you came from?” Logan asked.
Oh, terrible! Never enough to eat! All stuffed in one cave! Bossed around day and night! No treasure anywhere! Dragons staring at us all the time!
Logan clutched his head. “Dragons?” He had to sit down on the floor. Griffins were one thing. If there were dragons in this one-horse town, too, he had really got Xanadu all wrong.
Squorp poked his head out and tilted it at Logan. Worst of all . . . never enough to EAT!
“Okay, okay,” Logan said. “I get the message. I’ll get you some food.” He hesitated. Were griffins allowed to eat hamburger? What if he accidentally poisoned Squorp?
Logan turned back to his computer and Googled “what do griffins eat?”
“Humans!” one site offered cheerfully. Logan raised an eyebrow at Squorp. The cub didn’t seem like the man-eating type.
A few other websites suggested horse meat or oxen. So, at least they were carnivorous. Hamburger meat couldn’t be too bad for them.
And treasure? Squorp chirped. Need treasure! Would be best day ever!
“Sorry, I don’t have any treasure, Squorp.”
Oh, no? What about this? The griffin wriggled out from under the bed, dragging a shoe box with him.
Logan reached for it. “That’s nothing.” But the griffin cub batted his hand away and lifted off the lid as though it were the undisturbed tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh. He plucked out several postcards of wild jungles and vast desert landscapes.
Se
e? Treasure! Pretty! Traveled long distances to get here, yes? And carefully kept.
“They’re really not important.” Logan shoved himself to his feet. “Just put them back, okay?” Squorp reluctantly dropped the postcards into the box. “Come on, I’ll fix you some food.” He heard scrabbling in the shoe box behind him as he headed for the door.
But THIS is treasure! Squorp bounded past him and raced to the kitchen, brandishing a shiny gold object. His paws slipped on the smooth tiles, and his legs flew out from under him, sending the cub shooting across the floor to land with a thump against the cabinets.
Logan reached down to help him up and saw what Squorp held.
He slowly took the bracelet from the griffin. It was his mom’s favorite piece of jewelry, a thin gold-link chain with little charms dangling off it—an elephant, a bird, an anteater, a fox, a lizard, and seven other animals. She came back from each trip with a new charm but never took the bracelet with her in case she lost it. Logan had this weird superstition that if she ever did come back, it would be because the bracelet was here waiting for her.
“Yeah. I guess this is treasure-like, but I can’t give it to you, Squorp. I’m sorry.” Logan pocketed the bracelet, trying not to think about his mom.
Squorp’s wings drooped, but he perked up right away when Logan pulled the hamburger meat out of the freezer.
COW? Squorp gurgled. All for ME? ALLLLLLL THIS COW??
“Uh, sure,” Logan said, sticking the meat in the microwave. He’d have to tell his dad he’d had a serious hamburger craving. He wondered for a brief second what his father would think of Squorp, and if he might even let Logan keep him.
But that fantasy slammed into the memory of all the conversations they’d had about how much work a dog would be. He could just imagine how this one would go. “But Dad, it’ll be way easier than a schnauzer! It’s probably only going to be nine times the size of a Newfoundland! And who wouldn’t want a telepathic pet with claws and wings?”
Not that it was an option anyway. He had to give Squorp back to Zoe.
Besides, Logan’s dad worked for the Wyoming wildlife department. They watched out for endangered species and stuff like that. Logan was pretty sure he would want to report a real, live griffin to his boss, which sounded like the worst-case scenario for Zoe and Blue, and probably Squorp as well.
The Menagerie Page 2