Epilogue
Frida and Dian stood amongst the soft rustling willow leaves of the unicorn’s enclosure, and watched as Fireheart tried, very hard, not to lose her temper.
There were only a few pale stars left in the grey sky, a typical Melody dawn.
It wasn’t really a typical dawn though, not at all.
Time and earth and life and death and love and loss and magic had been released. What was typical about that?
Frida struggled to keep a straight face as Issy kicked up her hooves and galloped in circles, desperately overexcited as Cliff attempted to reason with her. It turned out that Dian had been entirely serious about asking the unicorn.
‘Issy, please! We need you to calm down, just for a second!’
‘WeeeeoohgrassleapapplesplungefreebrighthappybuzzFRIEND!’ Issy squealed, popopop, each word a chiming bubble of starlight that burst, one after the other after the other.
‘BallballballraceohDRAGONtreesmagicfunDELIGHTworldsworldsworlds!’
It was their own fault. They shouldn’t have given her those kitten treats.
Fireheart seemed likely to expire of a little-known disease: Insufferable-Baby-Unicorn-itis.
Dian, at Frida’s side, looked likely to expire too, of the same condition, although their symptoms were less get me out of here lest my head explodes and more oh my skies there’s a baby unicorn and how can we think about anything else other than the fact there’s a baby unicorn.
There was a lot of squealing.
Frida grinned.
Two weeks had passed since the wood had opened and magic had tumbled into Melody-Upon-Sea, spreading like a tidal wave over fields, villages and council estates, landfills, motorways and retail parks.
The portraits of Sir Joshua and all the rest had been taken down and, in tacit agreement, shoved in some storeroom at the back of Ground Control.
For the moment, the magical wood didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
Easier to grow apparently than to get rid of entirely, but it turns out the trees hadn’t swallowed the whole world.
Just up to the Sainsburys on the A28, which wasn’t too far really in the whole the scheme of things.
House prices in the forest were already skyrocketing.
The blackthorns at the entrance gates were being most obliging too, lifting their vigilance and unfurling their branches at Dian’s request. The inevitable floods of press, Management, police and tourists were being held at bay by two very stern basilisks.
Cliff and Gloria had been busy locating the other head keepers, making important phone calls, arguing with governments, feeding tired animals, wrangling somnolent beatific zookeepers and sending home the most sleepy humans still wandering around in delirious states of, Have I really not been debating with philosophical sea snakes, travelling with many-trunked elephants, and frequenting mountain spas for the last month with beautiful athletic Norwegians?
Cliff was still having at least five aneurisms a day, and according to Hamish he’d almost thrown the coffee machine across the kitchen twice.
But Frida had seen him and Gloria having lunch together, and that in itself was worth fifty coffee machines.
Swirling glitter couldn’t change the world overnight, but there were reports of trees popping up as far north as Glasgow, in places where trees had not been seen in a really long time.
Waterways getting cleaner, eagles turning up in people’s front gardens, fairy mushrooms sprouting in the House of Commons.
The world felt looser, and even the LEZ’s stalwart protestors had packed up their signs and gone home for a well-earned slice of carrot cake and a nap.
They all felt different.
Nobody, not even Fireheart, knew how long it would last. For now though, they just all seemed more like themselves.
Everyone, not just the people in the zoo, but outside of it too.
Management wasn’t even complaining that, under the orders of a dragon, they weren’t allowed back in.
Some of them even started to take off their suits.
And as for the zoo?
The animals were feeling a lot of emotions: relief, euphoria, excitement, pain, confusion.
The trauma of the last years, centuries and generations was still there – not even this amount of freed magic could wipe it away.
But there was healing, too. Or the possibility of it.
And that was a beginning. Fireheart, Frida and Dian (who, it turned out, had a bit of a gift for languages) acted as translators, moving around the yellow brick roads at something approaching light speed.
They began with the names, of course. Some of the animals claimed back their own, like the kraken, formerly known as Karen, now SHIP-CRUSHING-SOUL-EATER (specifically all caps).
The Lagarfljót Worm wanted to be called, simply, Bob.
Others, like Fireheart, chose to keep the names they’d become accustomed to.
Princess Issy wouldn’t hear of another name, neither would Raziel, or any of Jellybean’s troop.
The Nuckelavee was the one who surprised Frida most. Despite what Fireheart had said, he claimed to be more than a little attached to the name that struck terror into the hearts of all who heard it.
Mostly, they asked who wanted to go home. Even if there were no homes to go to. And many did. Many wanted to leave. But many wanted to stay, too. Some who wanted care and others who wanted to see what this place would become.
It wouldn’t be called the LEZ anymore. They’d find another name.
There would be no wards. Specifically, no eating each other.
Maybe no tourists would be allowed in, maybe when they worked it all out Fireheart would be in charge of it all, because what could anyone say against that, if that’s what the bad-tempered old dragon set her mind to?
Or maybe they’d have a council, Frida half-dreamed as she, Antony and Hamish had a few moments together, trying to settle the glow-worms back into their cocoons.
A council of different species to decide all their fates, from here to former Extraordinary Zoos around the world.
‘They’d have to find a way to make office chairs that were fireproof,’ Hamish had said drolly. ‘And ones that accommodated tails.’
Antony had smiled and kissed Hamish’s cheek, replying, with a wink at Frida, ‘Anything is possible, even new office chairs, right?’
Frida had nodded, but she’d wondered as she’d sung a lullaby to a particularly uncooperative glow-worm, if she’d really want to be one of those people sitting on those chairs. Because when anything was possible, why would you want to sit on an office chair anyway?
Back in Issy’s enclosure, Dian asked uncertainly, ‘Do you think we should step in?’
Frida watched as Fireheart snapped at Cliff, who was struggling not to cry as a baby unicorn ran in circles around him.
‘Probably,’ she agreed with a sigh. ‘Before Fireheart sets our only unicorn on fire.’ She gave Dian a little nudge as they started across the grass.
There’d been no more spine-tingling kisses, other than a few impassioned fumbles behind obliging yew hedges, and no discussion between them about the future.
There hadn’t been time. At night, Frida went back to pass out in her flat, dead tired, and Dian slept in the roots of the hawthorn tree.
But it was there. Hovering in the air between them.
Some kind of future.
Anything is possible.
Dian glanced down and ran their thumb along Frida’s shirt sleeve.
She wore jeans and one of her mum’s ratty old checked shirts.
Dian traced the place where Issy’s horn was tattooed on her finger.
A delicious shiver ran down her spine, all the way to where her toes curled in her boots.
She was trying her hardest to look professional, when really all she wanted to do was meet Dian behind a bush so they could lose themselves in each other.
‘Oooohhwoooowwwgollyrunsunfunoohhhtreesmagicfun!’ Popopop.
Issy scampered over the grass.
‘Come on Is,’ Frida groaned, laughing as Issy nickered, her turquoise eyes liquid in the grey morning. She poked Frida in the fleshy part of her thigh and asked for another apple.
Hours later, the sky now a cornflower blue, Issy was lying across Dian’s muscular legs, her belly round as a barrel.
Cliff and Fireheart had both taken a break and were napping companionably under the willow trees.
Frida fondly combed the baby unicorn’s silken mane with her fingers.
Issy was staring up at the sky, hypnotised by the colourful shapes of creatures soaring through the fluffy clouds.
Every now and then, Frida saw a flash of purple that had to be Lucky, and heard his howled, ‘WEEEEEEEEE!’
He’d cheered up immeasurably in the last days, although the imprint of grief still weighed on him.
Sometimes, she’d find him on his own, his snout on his oversized paws, hiding in some quiet corner of the wood.
Then Frida would sit with her hand on one of his paws and sing or tell him stories.
His favourite was Sleeping Beauty, but Frida’s version, the one that contained a thorny wood, a baby purple dragon who was of course the hero, and an evil fairy who started off as a witch, turned along the way into a princess, and then ended up as both and none of them, all at once.
Today though, he was stretching his wings, accompanied by a troop of delectable storm monkeys hanging onto his beard.
‘Frida,’ Dian whispered, nudging her.
Frida blinked and drew in a breath. ‘Oh!’ she murmured. Quickly, she turned to where Fireheart and Cliff were snoring. ‘Guys. Look!’
‘Huh, what?’ Cliff exclaimed, leaping up.
‘Look! Her horn.’
Fireheart slowly opened one milky eye.
Issy’s horn was glowing the brightest, most impossible silver.