Hell's Menagerie (3 page)

“I'm sorry.” She leaned back and sniffed, wiping away the tears with her hands. “I knew when we found out about the carnival, the menagerie . . . I knew all these animals would be here.” She tipped her wet face up to look at him. “We have to help them.”

Rex's expression turned pained and his eyes went glassy, his jaw tight. “I'd give you the world if I could. But not at the expense of your safety. We'll see if we can locate the pups, and that's it.”

She didn't answer. What could she say to that?

“We'll figure it out, Em. Okay? We'll figure it out.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her to a vendor for some water and fresh bread.

—

REX AND EMMA
were given the best seats in the house for the performance that night, which started off with Baasîl sweeping into the arena in his black suit and top hat. His voice reverberated through the massive tent as he promised a night of heart-pounding spectacle. Goose bumps sped up Rex's arms as the ringmaster declared the start of the greatest show in all three worlds with a dramatic flourish of his long arms and deep, booming laughter in his voice.

Baasîl leapt onto the arena wall and then climbed, like some black-clad praying mantis, up the chain-link cage that rose high
around the arena as three large cats with lean bodies, short black fur, and long, curved fangs were set loose in the arena as eerily painted fae clowns dodged and tumbled over them like some hyped-up version of rodeo clowns meets bullfighting. Baasîl clung to the cage, telling the crowd that the goal was to turn the cats into clowns by sticking spikes topped with red pom-poms along their backs, which matched the pom-poms stuck to the clowns' outfits. Once all three cats had a set of four running down their backs, it was over.

And when it was, one fae was dead and one seriously injured. The cats were still standing, but they wouldn't make it through the night.

The crowd loved it. Fucking bastards.

It was no place for a twelve-year-old. Sure, there were young Charbydons there, but it was their world, how they'd grown up. Death was as much a part of their lives as anything else; they were desensitized to it. All great and good for them. Not so much for Emma. Rex had assumed these types of matches would be relegated to the match tent, but apparently even the performance-going folks liked a good mauling every once in a while. He'd thought the pups might be part of the show, something fun and cute for the crowd—how wrong he'd been.

The problem was that when they tried to leave before the performance was over, the three jinn warriors who stood guard at the exit to Baasîl's private box prevented them. So they sat back down, Emma tucked next to Rex and Brim on her other side. “Don't look,” he told her. And she didn't. But the crowd, the screams . . . There was no way to avoid those. He knew she'd never forget those.

The performance finally drew to an end with trained moon snakes dancing to an otherworldly tune.

Rex breathed a sigh of relief and Emma's tense body went soft
as the crowd filed out of the tent. But their guards remained, beefy arms crossed over their chests, huge linebackers' bodies that would've been intimidating had Rex not been one of them once. As it was, it irritated the shit out of him and he had a really bad feeling that letting Emma talk him into “just checking out the carnival” for the pups had turned into something else entirely.

The ringmaster walked into the arena.

Emma slipped her hand into Rex's. He squeezed and bumped her shoulder with his own. “Let me do the talking. Just keep Brim under control.”

Rex stood just as two attendants closed the flaps to the tent's exit and stood guard. Quiet settled inside of the tent, accentuated by the murmur of the crowd outside.

“Enjoy the show?” Baasîl walked toward them, leapt onto the wall, and slipped his long bony fingers through the chain links.

“What do you want, Baasîl?”

A gleam appeared in the ringmaster's eyes. A deep growl rumbled in Brim's chest. Baasîl turned his attention to Emma, his strange mauve eyes narrowing. “He's a magnificent beast, you know. Big for his breed. Intimidating. There are those who would pay dearly for him.”

“He's not for sale,” Em bit out.

“No, I didn't think he would be. And that, you see, is the problem. How about we make a deal, you and me?”

Rex started to speak, but the ringmaster interrupted him, telling Emma, “One second.” He nodded to the jinn behind them. Before she could react, Rex was struck with a tranquilizer tag.

—

“REX!” EMMA REACHED
for Rex as he fell over, his body draped along the bench, the side of his face squished against the wood.

Oh God.

Electric fear slid into her, from her scalp all the way to her toes. Her pulse hammered through her eardrums. She swallowed, her mind racing.
Stay calm. Don't panic.
Her mom had schooled her in those very things—how to stay calm and smart in dangerous situations. After her kidnapping, Emma had taken those talks, those self-defense lessons, to heart . . .

Swallowing down the mushrooming panic, she straightened her spine, drew in a deep breath, and looked the ringmaster square in the eyes. He hurt Rex. He. Hurt. Rex. And that made her mad. Mad was better than scared. A smart mad was better than a rash one—her mom had taught her that, too.

“Now that that's taken care of,” Baasîl said as the jinn lifted Rex and took him away, “we can deal.”

She wouldn't cry, wouldn't call after Rex, wouldn't freak out because she was now alone. No, not alone. Brim was by her side. Brim would
always
be by her side. He leaned into her, sensing her emotions.

Rex was dumped by the tent's exit as Baasîl crawled over the top of the chain-link fence like a spider. Then he was down on her side. In her box. In her space, sitting down on the bench in front of her, his elbows resting on his knees.

Brim could take out his throat in the blink of an eye. But Baasîl wasn't afraid.

He should be,
Em thought.

“Doesn't take a genius to figure out why you're here, little one. You show up, two humans with a hellhound. Not here to see the animals. See, I could tell you were looking for something. Had to ask myself what, ‘What could they be after?' ” He tapped his cheek with one long gray finger. “So here's the deal. You give me Big Daddy there, and you walk away with the pups. Free and clear.
Simple exchange. I'd throw in the bitch, too, but she lost in the ring last night, so . . .”

Instant tears surged, burning Emma's throat. The mother was dead. Her hand clenched into a tight fist, and the one holding on to Brim's neck dug into his muscled flesh. Her anger and grief blinded her for a second and then crystallized into a defined point. That point was Baasîl. “You're going to pay for that,” she said in an even, flat tone.

Baasîl laughed softly, indulgently. Another one of his mistakes. Not believing her. Underestimating her. Behind him the arena gate opened and a small wire cage was carried in with the pups in it.

A shudder snaked through Brim's body; Emma felt it beneath her hand. He whined, glancing quickly at her, then back at the pups. Torn. He was torn between leaving her and guarding her. Tears thickened her throat.

“Don't cry, pretty girl.” Baasîl's words tried to sound comforting but they came out grim and dark and just wrong. “He would want you to do this. Go ahead, ask him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I saw you, how you were with him when we met earlier. He listens to you. You listen to him. Even among my kind, there are those who can talk to beasts. Rare, but it happens. Maybe even rarer in humans, I don't know.” He leaned closer, his bony face harsh, daring her to argue. “I know what I saw. So you ask him.”

Baasîl sat back, a smug light coming into his eyes. “It's his choice, remember?” He threw her words back at her, and Emma realized with a sinking feeling in her gut that he had her. He had Brim. Because Brim wouldn't even have to think about it. He'd give up his life to let her and the pups walk out of there safely.

The ringmaster went to touch her knee to nudge her as he said, “Go ahead, ask—”

Brim lunged. Baasîl lurched backward, his back meeting with the chain links as the hellhound's massive jaws and fangs snapped inches from his face. The suddenness of it made Emma jump. The snarl and growl—she'd never seen Brim so angry, so wild . . .

Beyond the ringmaster's shoulders, Emma saw the jinn in the arena reach in and grab one of the pups from the cage and hold it up by the neck. It squirmed, its lower body twisting back and forth. It let out a small cry at the tightening fingers around its neck. Brim's nostrils flared, drool dripped from his bared fangs, and his eyes burned hot and red.

He stepped back.

The ringmaster let out a relieved laugh; the gray color of his skin had gone to pale ash. He straightened his top hat and found his voice. “He's perfect. The crowd will love him.”

“You'd trade three hellhounds for one? Why?”

“The pups are useless to me right now. It'll take years for them to grow and to train. But him . . . he'll do whatever I want. Tricks, commands, fights, coordinated attacks. Can you imagine what he'd look like in the warhound armor of old?”

“He won't listen to you,” she told him. “He'll turn on you the first chance he gets. He won't forget what you've done.”

“Oh, I think he will. See, I've thought this through. I'm a businessman and all. As long as he listens, his pups are safe. I just came from your city, see? Where do you think I got this incredible hat? I have contacts everywhere. No matter where you hide them, no matter what protection you put them under, my guys will find them and . . .” He left the rest of it unspoken, left it up to her imagination.

The jinn put the pup back with the others and took the cage to where Rex lay. Rex was coming around, sitting up with a loud groan and rubbing his hands down his face.

“Go ahead, child,” Baasîl said. “Ask him. Give him the choice.”

She couldn't think. She didn't want to make this decision,
didn't want to ask Brim anything. She loved him. God, she loved him. She couldn't let him go, couldn't let him do this.

The ringmaster was taking advantage of her, she knew. A lot of adults she'd come across underestimated kids her age, always thought they couldn't think for themselves, couldn't figure things out, couldn't see the flaws and loopholes . . .

Brim could kill Baasîl right now. They even had a good chance of escaping—if Rex could shake off the tranquilizer, Brim made it to the jinn by the exit in time, and her power was strong enough to take care of the other guards.

It was. She knew it was.

But it wasn't her choice. She had to leave it up to Brim to take the risk. It was his family, after all.

She turned to him and slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Her eyes closed, her nose went stuffy. “I love you,” she whispered against his warm skin.
I love you so much, Brim.
He turned his big head toward her, eyes staring right into hers. She held his face, pressed her forehead against his, and sank into his thoughts . . .

—

THE FOG WAS
almost gone from Rex's mind.

It felt like he had just been body slammed by a fucking elephant. He rubbed a hand down his face and remembered where he was and what was happening. A surge of panic went through him.

The gray wrinkly pups were next to him in their small cage, all huddled together, staring up at him with huge, innocent eyes. And there was Emma, sitting in the box across the arena, posture straight, face pale, talking to the ringmaster—the dead man; Rex was going to kill him.

Quickly, he took stock of the situation, put a few things together in his head, and then made to lunge for the jinn nearby. But
Emma stood suddenly. Rex paused. The jinn guarding the box stood aside, and she walked around the curve of the arena toward the exit. Brim stayed behind.

What the hell?

He struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as a wave of nausea nearly sent him down again. Emma finally reached him. She was white as a ghost, eyes rimmed in red, and she looked so small and so goddamn broken, he wanted to hit something. His fists clenched. But instead of striking the nearest wall, he pulled her to his chest and held on tight. He set her back from him more harshly than he intended and looked her over. “Tell me you're okay. Did he hurt you?”

Tears filled her eyes and slipped out in long streams. Her lips had gone thin and trembly. She nodded, sucked in a deep, gasping breath. “Not on the outside,” she said. “We have to go now.”

He blinked. But Brim . . . He glanced from Emma's devastated face to where the ringmaster stood with Brim obediently at his side, and Rex knew.

Oh, hell no. Hell fucking no.

Shaking from the shock and the tranq, Rex bent slowly and picked up the cage. The flap was lifted for them, and they left. Just . . . left.

He could barely keep up with Emma as she marched through the crowded square, head up, tears streaming. The pups licked his fingers through the wire cage. Once they reached a quieter area, Emma stopped, swiping angrily at the wetness on her face.

She struggled to regain her composure, and it killed him. He wasn't sure what to do, what to say. Slowly, her expression morphed. He knew that look, had seen it a hundred times on her mother. “We need a room somewhere,” she said. “An inn or something. Did you bring money?”

Still feeling woozy and sick, and a whole lot weak and shaky, Rex set the cage down, wiping his wet fingers on his pants. “Yeah, I
brought money. You mind telling me what happened back there? And what's going through your head?”

He might be about to upchuck in the barrel behind him, but he sure as shit was sharp enough to see that this wasn't over. Despite the tears, sweet Emma Madigan Garrity had morphed into a focused, highly pissed-off version of Charlie Madigan.