“Animals have twins,” said Malcolm. It was hardly a revelation, but it was part of his question, and his question was important. Important enough to send Zippo into full on ‘ignore Malcolm’ mode. She attacked the hill in front of her like she was attempting to walk through it rather than up it.

  “TWINS – animals have them,” he said again. Malcolm used to think his mentor was hard of hearing, being as she never acknowledged a word he said, but Zippo could hear the corner of a spell book bend, or as she put it, ‘spoil’, at fifty paces. She certainly wasn’t deaf. She just didn’t value anyone else’s opinion.

  “Two animals can be born identical if their parents are the same species,” he tried again, addressing her back, warming to his theme. “The twins can be ordinary animals, or they can be creatures of magical purity, or they can be monsters, but can they be one of each? One magical twin and one grey twin.” He broke off.

  It sounded ridiculous, but it all depended on whether greys were born greys or whether they turned into greys, and he couldn’t find an answer to that question anywhere. Zippo’s books were useless. The library wasn’t much better. It was great if you wanted books about ordinary creatures or magical creatures, greys not so much. He’d even tried using his Butter up skill on the librarian. It earned him one slim, black book, A Bestiary of the Islands. It wasn’t dated, but it was old, every page illustrated with beautifully detailed, hand-drawn animals. All the creatures depicted were strictly either magical or non-magical. No grey monsters.

  Mal stopped and stared up at the view in front of them - four brilliant white towers piercing a cloudless, blue sky. He’d never get tired of the thrill each time he saw the magnificent building the magical creatures called home. Malcolm allowed himself a moment to revel in the -

  “Stop fly catching and get a move on!”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” said Malcolm. He paused. “Did you not hear me? Do you need me to SPEAK LOUDER?”

  Zippo sniffed. At last, the lad was showing a bit of initiative. Not enough though, nowhere near enough.

  “I’ve spent ages trying to find out if the greys are born the way they are – no magic, no colour, evil.” said Malcolm. He dropped his voice for the word evil. There was something about his mentor that reminded him of Nev. He’d never heard Zippo say anything bad about the greys either. It’d be just his luck to cross paths with the only two monster lovers on the whole island! “Or do creatures turn into greys? You know, like they start off as a normal cow or a magical cow and then get a disease that takes away their colour and turns them into monsters. There’s nothing about it anywhere. There’s nothing about them anywhere.”

  It was bugging him. The grey he’d watched being taken into the CRaP enclosure was the double of the dragon he’d encountered at the shore. Granted, the grey had been hunched up in the bottom of the net, but Malcolm had a clear view of its face. The long snout. The too flared nostrils. The arrogant tilt to its mouth, and the claw. It was exactly the same claw! He shuddered. He wouldn’t say he was the type who never forgot a face, but he was the type who never forgot a face that had almost ate him. Maybe he should ask Nev. She obviously considered herself a monster expert. Would it make him look stupid if he asked? Maybe he could ask all casual, like.

  The thought vanished. It was impossible to think about anything inside the towers. Their sheer beauty demanded to be seen and chased all attempts at thought into dusty corners. Malcolm turned a slow circle, gazing up to where blue sky reflected off polished stone walls. Halfway up the tower, the biggest skill stone he’d ever laid eyes on vibrated gently. He’d give anything to know what was engraved on it – something to do with flying for it to be free-floating? More than one word? A whole spell even? Now, if he had a friend with a seeing skill he could…

  “It’s veiled,” snapped Zippo, her white eyes following his gaze.

  “Yeah, I know, I know,” said Mal, dragging his eyes away from the powerful stone and joining his mentor in front of one of the archways in the circular wall. Each archway led to a stone recess. Each recess belonged to one of the creatures of magical purity who used the menagerie as their base. “Why do they come here anyway?” he whispered. All naturally magical creatures hailed from Fowk, the farthest flung of the five islands. It was rumoured to be a paradise.

  “They come to rest,” said Zippo. She patted the carved stone branch that curved its way around the wall. Malcolm ran his hand along the stone.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Zippo sniffed. “One day, you’ll reach out to touch something, and it’ll touch you back.”

  “You touched it!” Malcolm lifted his fingers, then put them back on the stone. Would it be so bad if something touched him back? Guess it all depends on what the something is. He stretched.

  Zippo stifled a smile. “We’re the first to arrive,” she said. “She’ll like that.”

  “Who’ll like it?” He followed Zippo’s pointing finger. A shadow, right at the top of the tower. Small but growing fast - too fast. If whatever it was hit the ground at that speed, it’d be reduced to a puddle of whatever it had been. He looked away.

  The great bird landed with barely a whisper and perched on the branch in front of them. Zippo stepped forward, her face shining with pleasure. Mal moved away. He had to. Heat rolled off the bird’s golden plumage in waves, searing his cheeks, stinging his eyes. He pulled his collar up and his sleeves down.

  “Greetings, Endeleas.” Zippo swept a deep, wobbling curtsey. Malcolm reached out to steady her, but Endeleas was quicker. The phoenix’s wing curled protectively over the old woman’s back. Zippo slapped at the wing like a mother would a child stealing a lick of the mixing bowl. Malcolm gaped. The phoenix let out a whispering sigh and withdrew her wing.

  “The day I need help to greet a friend, is the day I won’t,” said Zippo. She pulled herself upright in a ruffle of shawls and glanced at the tower doors. Malcolm cleared his throat. At least one of them could show this magical creature the respect it deserved.

  “Here!” said Zippo. She threw him a soft white cloth. “Look busy!”

  A door thudded. Wordsmith Mathers strode to the centre of the room, pointing out the arches arrayed around him like the spokes of a wheel. He coughed. “This place is home to creatures of immense magical power. I advise caution in the ranks.” His eyes darted around the group and zeroed in on the three figures at the back. Slater held his nose and pretended to wretch. Bentley did likewise. Slater raised an eyebrow, holding Mather’s gaze until the old man looked away.

  “Now, where was I?” Mathers patted at his pockets with trembling hands. He pulled out a square of paper. “Ah yes, as I was saying… These towers hold great power, much of it. You would be wise to follow my instructions to the very letter,” he said. As one, the group of new stone holders turned to look at the two black-cloaked guards who accompanied them. The biggest of the guards nodded. The group turned back to the wordsmith and nodded.

  “I should think so,” said Mathers, but the fire had gone from his voice. Malcolm bit his tongue.

  Slater laughed. A few of the others joined in. Ernie grinned then stopped when Nev widened her eyes at him.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Mathers. He looked down at his paper again. “The place we are now entering is home to creatures of immense magical power.” He pointed a wavering hand into Endeleas’ recess. Mal dropped to his knees and began furiously polishing the stone branch with a soft, white cloth.

  “Inside of these towers,” read Mathers. “You are expected to behave with the utmost respect. You are to treat this place as you would an honoured home, nay, a place of worship.” He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Slater scraped the underside of his shoe against the softly glowing stone. Anger fizzed in Malcolm’s throat. He looked at the phoenix’s razor sharp talons. If she knew what he’d done to the female dragon. “Ow!” Malcolm rubbed his ankle. “What was that for?”

  Zippo ignored him. She held out a hand to the phoenix. “Please, allow me to tend your wound, oh gracious one.” Endeleas shifted on her perch, a stoic look in her yellow eyes. She lifted her foot. Zippo cupped it in one hand, gently prodding each toe. Endeleas looked away. Mal had never seen such huge talons, each toe long and leathery. From somewhere inside her shawls, Zippo pulled out a small glass jar and daubed each toe with a thick, foul-smelling ointment. Feet shuffled behind them.

  “Greetings oh gracious one, I trust the dawn of the morn finds you in good health,” said Mathers, his head bowed to the phoenix, or his notes; it was hard to tell. Endeleas delicately sniffed the cloth Zippo wound around her injured toe. “Ah yes, pray forgive me. I’m afraid my eyes are not what they once were. I see now that you have sustained injury.”

  Malcolm gave up on the pretend polishing. Mathers could blather for Feor. “We appreciate your hospitality,” he droned on. “In the face of this inconvenience, oh gracious one. T’was merely my intention to introduce our recent Choosing Day proteges.” He waved the group of new stone holders forward. The phoenix ruffled her feathers. Her neck arched. “Fryrrrr!” she screamed. Her golden eyes flashed straight towards Slater lounging at the back of the group. He jumped. Endeleas stretched out her flame-covered wings. Slater backed away, cowering. He made it to the centre of the room, then turned and fled. Bentley and Albert scurried after him.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” said Mathers. He bent a deep, sweeping bow to the phoenix. “My gratitude as ever, oh gracious one.” He scowled at the black-cloaked guards and ushered the remaining stone holders towards the door. Malcolm could hear him humming as he passed. Maybe the old man wasn’t so defeated after all.

  “Don’t be silly, boy!” snapped Zippo. Wordsmith Mathers’ feet left the ground, but she didn’t mean him. The old woman leaned towards Ernie. “Don't even think of leaving that behind if you value your skin.” The edge of her shawl whipped out.

  “S-sorry, ma’am. I didn’t…” Ernie’s hand fell from the wall, and something clattered to the ground. The small boy blushed and bent to retrieve it. He hurried after the others, hastily shoving the ear deep in his pocket before anyone else got chance to see it.