I stood, dusting off the seat of my trousers, and proceeded with the evening rounds. Duke, the two-horned abada, very similar to a unicorn, chewed morosely on a parcel of synthetic fairy dust. Ichiro and Gen, a pair of tortoise-shelled kappas, rested in bowed positions as the basin-like indents of their skulls sloshed water that I’d poured in to keep them from freezing anyone on the spot. A cluster of rompos, which I hadn’t gotten around to naming, tore up a protein block. They were relatively small creatures with rabbit heads, badger forelegs, and the hind legs of bears. They had emaciated middles and eerily human-esque ears. I had their orb hexed with a silencing spell so they couldn’t sing and draw humans to their deaths. And Dante, the Grootslang—a curious individual with the head of an elephant and the body of a serpent—splashed contentedly in his half-filled orb of water.
I paused beside the large orb that held a pair of crocottas—wolf-dog beings that more closely resembled hyenas than any wolf or dog I had ever seen. “Pelias, Neleus, I thought you two had agreed to make friends?” I said. They were sulking at their respective ends of the enclosure, crying at one another before returning to their teenage moping. I’d moved them into this larger orb and made sure they had separate feeding drops in the hopes that it would lessen their frequent scrapping. I supposed it had worked, basically, since whining was preferable to fighting.
Pelias, identifiable by the yellowish tuft of hair that stuck up like a mohawk, whimpered at me and snapped his jaws in his brother’s direction. It set Neleus off immediately, barking in disapproval at whatever Pelias had said to me in crocotta-speak. Sighing, I took a handful of monster treats—my personal recipe—and dropped them through the brothers’ separate hatches. The two beasts descended on the snacks, forgetting their fraternal quarrel in favor of delicious goodness. Sometimes, there was no better way to achieve behavioral peace than simple bribery.
“Behave yourselves,” I said, leaving them to their crunching.
I turned to a gaggle of yellow-eyed gremlins, whom I had also neglected to name as of yet. I always had a harder time with the larger groups, especially if they lacked any specific features that made it easier to tell them apart. Unprompted, one of them hooked his fingers in the sides of his mouth, his slimy green tongue hanging out, and waggled his head wildly.
I believed I was doing some genuine good here, both for the monsters and the wider magical community, by bringing attention to the fact that these were sentient, if occasionally rude, beings who deserved better. It was on a small scale, through my thesis and my research papers and my teachings, but I knew that my work was valuable. After all, it only took a tiny spark to create an explosive change.
Not all of the beasts took a liking to me, of course. Before she was taken to the Bestiary, I hadn’t dared go near Persie’s second banshee, not after she’d leapt out of the shadows at me and made me scream like a baby pterodactyl. But I tried my best. It was why I liked to give them names—that way, at least while they were in my care, they were not merely a statistic, a number, or a fuel source.
Peace is hard to find. Harder still to keep. Some days, I could not believe my fortune. How many people could honestly say that they had landed themselves in their ideal job, where they experienced true contentment on a daily basis? My life here would have been utter perfection if it weren’t marred by the memory of what I had done to gain the position. I didn’t know if the ends could justify the means, but in my case, there had been no alternative.
I could not lose this.
I would not. Besides, people lied on their resumes all the time, and they mostly ended up fine. But I’d had the credentials and the work ethic and the passion, and I could live with the lies I’d told if they allowed me to stay here and make a difference.
No, I told myself. No one could know the truth.
“You understand, don’t you?” I asked the gremlin. He repeated his head-shaking, tongue-wagging motion, and I decided to take that as a “yes.”
And no secret will prevent me from doing my life’s work, dedicated to the altering of minds. Not everyone would understand if I were to reveal the truth, so I chose to be cautious. I chose to show my worth through my devotion to the monsters and the Institute, in the hope that it would make up for any sins that I carried inside me.
“Looks like no one’s here. I guess we’re good to open all the cages.” A familiar voice cut through my private reverie. That deadpan delivery could only mean Genie Vertis.
I could write twenty research papers and still be no closer to understanding her.
I hurried out of the aisles, wishing I hadn’t changed into jeans and a T-shirt after dinner. I felt more capable when I had my polo-and-tweed uniform on. Being so casual, I felt… exposed. I emerged from the orbs and saw the dynamic duo waiting for me, still wearing martial-arts clothes and matching smirks. “Very funny,” I said. “What would you unleash first?”
“Good question.” Genie flashed me a disarming smile. “The biggest one, for peak mayhem purposes, then the rest.”
I laughed nervously, my throat tight. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.” I gestured to their clothing and asked Persie, “Were you on dojo duty again?”
“Need you ask?” She rolled her eyes. “Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday—regular as clockwork.”
“There’s always method in Marcel’s madness. I’m sure he’s trying to teach you something,” I encouraged. After she’d saved the day from Fergus, people at the Institute had finally given Persie the respect she deserved, but I knew that wasn’t enough for her; she was always looking for another challenge.
Genie laughed. “McCarthy’s just trying to get free labor. If he had to do it himself, he’d snap the mop between his beefy mitts.”
“So poetic.” I smiled, gesturing toward my study. “Now, can I interest either of you in a cup of tea? I was just about to put the kettle on. I think I have some shortbread somewhere, too, if you haven’t eaten yet?”
“You’ve been in Ireland too long,” Genie teased. “But I’d take a coffee, if you’re brewing some. And I could murder some proper biccies, if you’ve got any? Look at me, picking up the lingo! Aren’t you proud?”
She knew full well that I had coffee, and that I drank far too much of it. During most of our encounters, I had a novelty mug in one hand. As for her newfound love of colloquialisms… well, it was unbearably charming.
“I have custard creams and chocolate hobnobs,” I said, feeling a little flustered.
She smirked. “Hobnobs? That can’t be a real thing. You’re pulling my leg.”
“I assure you, they are very real. They’re oaty, chocolatey biscuits—sorry, cookies. I think you’ll like them.” I turned to Persie. “Anything for you?”
“Tea sounds good, with milk and sugar.” She grinned, a peculiar look in her eyes. As if she knew something I didn’t, and was having a secret, inner monologue about it. I could almost see her lips moving.
I all but sprinted for my study to give myself a moment of quiet to compose myself. I liked to think of myself as a competent man who could socialize with the best of them, and I’d even been known to make a decent job of flirting when the fancy took me. However, since Genie had burst into my life, my tongue was forever tangling itself in knots and my complexion never failed to give me away. It was the fate of the Irish to turn red in the sun and, apparently, in embarrassing situations with women they found attractive.