“No,” she said. “I don’t see security, either.”

“That’s good. Do you see the door in the fence over there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s better. All right. American alligators can sprint at a speed of about eleven miles an hour when they really try.” Big Ted was growling now. That was worse than the hissing. I kept backing away, trying to put more distance between me and the massive reptile. “Humans can run much faster when they’re properly motivated. I’m feeling motivated. How about you?”

“I have never been this motivated in my life.”

“Good. On the count of three, run. One, two—”

Big Ted reached a decision: we were a threat to his territory. Jaws open, he lunged forward, aiming for my legs. I jumped backward, feeling my shoulder impact Shelby’s chest, and his mouth snapped shut on empty air.

“Run!” I whirled, putting my back to the alligator—not the most comfortable thing I’d ever been forced to do—and ran like hell for the door. Shelby was two steps ahead of me, not wasting time. Good. Big Ted was annoyed, but he didn’t seem angry yet, and for a well-fed reptile his size, chasing us all the way to the door would be a serious commitment of energy and resources. I was hoping that he would give up before we had to deal with the lock. If not . . .

Humans evolved from monkeys. Maybe it was time for us to put our primate climbing skills to good use.

When we hit the fence, I looked back. Big Ted was still in virtually the same spot, mouth open, staring after us. If alligators could look smug, he did. He had scared away the threat, and he’d done it without needing to put in much of an effort. He was still King Lizard.

“Thanks for that,” I said, half-panting, and turned to open the door. It was a safety model that required a key to open from the outside as a precaution against idiots trying to sneak into the alligator enclosure, but which was always unlocked on the inside, in case one of those idiots actually managed it. “After you.”

“I’m really glad you didn’t say that when we went up the tree,” said Shelby, and stepped out of the enclosure, onto the narrow strip of grass between the chain-link fence and the low stone retaining wall. I followed her, and together we hopped the wall and stepped, unsteadily, onto the walking path beyond.

“I try not to get my girlfriends eaten by alligators,” I said. “I mean, it’s a tidy form of breakup, but it’s so hard to explain to their families.”

Shelby punched me in the shoulder.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

“You dropped me into an alligator pit,” she said. “I don’t think I needed any reason beyond that.”

“Fair enough.” I adjusted my glasses, stealing a look back at Big Ted. He was still in the same place, mouth open, content with his world. I turned to Shelby. “We’re clear on the plan.”

“Check the underbrush for signs of cockatrice, which will look a lot like signs of chicken, only bigger. If I find anything, come find you. If I don’t find anything, come find you. If anyone finds me, tell them that I stopped by to pick up some notes from my office, and I got distracted thinking about whatever it seems like they’re most likely to believe.”

“Right. And if you see the cockatrice?”

“Shoot it.” Shelby’s lips thinned into a hard, uncompromising line. “I’m as fond of conservation as the next girl, but three people are dead, and it’s not an endangered species. It has to go.”

“Right.” I hated sanctioning the death of any cryptid, but a cockatrice in this ecosystem was a ticking time bomb. It wasn’t just killing people: by now, it would be killing rats, mice, and any other small animals that it came across. The cockatrice was innocent: it was just following its instincts. That couldn’t matter anymore. “I have my phone if you need me.”

“Same here,” she said, and stepped forward to give me a quick kiss before she trotted away down the path, her ponytail swinging behind her and flashing golden in the light.

I was pretty sure that I was in love with that woman. I was even more sure that she was going to be trouble, one way or another. Turning, I made my own slower way toward the portion of the zoo that we had reserved for me to search.

Walking through the zoo in broad daylight with no children staring raptly at the animals or demanding answers from their teachers was a surreal experience, like suddenly finding myself in one of those movies where most of the human race has died off overnight. The animals clearly found it as strange as I did, because they were restless, staring at me with their wide, alien eyes as I walked past their enclosures. The Columbus Zoo was built on an open plan, giving each of our residents plenty of space within a semi-natural environment, and it seemed like every one of those residents was out, waiting to watch as I walked by. I split my attention between them and the ground. It was entirely possible that the cockatrice was roosting in the trees of the zebra enclosure, or hiding amongst the flamingos. So I studied them, looking for signs of illness or petrifaction, and I studied the ground, looking for scat or tracks that could lead me to my prey.

The zoo’s claims of enhanced security were either idle boasting or failed to account for people’s tendency to gather around coffee pots and snack machines when not supervised. I didn’t see anyone.

I was halfway through my part of the zoo when I heard frantic quacking up ahead. I broke into a jog. Coming around the curve, I saw one of the many flocks of ducks that inhabited our open-air enclosures clustered on the bank of the artificial pond we provided for the capybara. I came closer. The ducks were directing their fury at the water.

Capybara aren’t great climbers, and they’re not a species that’s particularly interested in escaping from any location that contains food, water, and a lack of predators. I boosted myself over the stone retaining wall and was inside the enclosure without even breaking stride. The ducks, long since accustomed to the presence of humans, ignored me as they kept quacking at the water. I crouched down, peering closer.

If I hadn’t known better, I would have taken the stone drake that was mired in the mud at the bottom of the pond for a particularly well-sculpted bit of garden statuary. I reached in and carefully freed it from the muck, shaking it a little to clear the worst of the mess away before pulling it out of the water. It was frozen in mid-paddle, its legs fully extended, as if it had been swimming when it met the cockatrice’s deadly gaze.