The Scent of Blood Read Online Free

ourselves to ask her what we really wanted to know: just how, exactly, was she related to Sandy Milford?
    The first animals she introduced us to were a pair of Brazilian tapirs – furry pig-sized creatures with what looked like miniature trunks. We watched them over the barrier for a moment or two before Kylie announced that we were going in. I have to confess I was a bit nervous. I couldn’t help wondering how big their teeth were, and Graham looked as though he might refuse altogether. But I took a deep breath and did what I was told, and when Kylie instructed me on where to scratch them (right between the shoulder blades), to my surprise they became absolutely blissed out. First their eyelids started to flutter and then their little trunky noses went all floppy. Then their knees gave way, and finally they sank to the ground with a contented sigh and literally rolled over.
    “Brilliant!” I said.
    “Extraordinary.” Graham flashed me one of his blink-and-you-miss-it grins.
    “Works every time.” Kylie threw a quick smile at the animals.
    After that it was time to feed the spider monkeys, who came right up to the wire mesh to take pieces of banana from us with their delicate, bony fingers. Then Kylie took us to a little private room behind the enclosure. In a small cage on the table, a tiny snub-nosed proboscis monkey clung to a large furry teddy bear.
    “This is Basil,” she announced, her face softening with almost maternal pride.
    “What’s the teddy bear for?” I asked.
    “He needs something to cuddle when I’m not here,” she explained. “He was rejected by his mum so I’ve been hand-rearing him.”
    “I understand that’s a terribly demanding task to undertake,” said Graham. “From what I’ve read, it seems to be extremely hard work.”
    “Yep, it’s pretty tiring. This little fella needs feeding every two hours, night and day. He comes home with me every evening. I haven’t had much sleep lately – but he’s worth it, aren’t you, baby?”
    She began to warm his bottle.
    “What will you do with him?” I asked as she fed him.
    “Oh – he’ll go in with the others when he’s old enough. I’ll keep a careful eye on him, but he should be fine.”
    I touched the fur on the top of his head and felt the heat through his paper-thin skin and the tiny, rapid beat of his pulse. “You must be really attached to him,” I said. “Won’t it be hard giving him back?”
    “Of course. But he’s a wild animal, not a pet. You can’t go getting sentimental over them.” When Basil had finished his bottle, Kylie lifted him into his cage and he climbed into the welcoming arms of his teddy-bear foster mother. “Anyway,” she added, “he doesn’t belong to me. I don’t get any say in the matter.” There was a touch of anger in her voice so I didn’t ask any more, and then she told us our next stop was the tigers.
    “We’re not going in with them, are we?” quavered Graham.
    “Yes,” said Kylie.
    I gulped. “Is that safe?” I could barely squeeze the words out.
    She laughed. “Don’t worry.” She led us to a huge pair of wooden gates that were big enough to drive a lorry through. A small, person-sized door was cut into the corner of one, which Kylie opened. “This is the service area,” she said as we followed her inside. “The bit the public don’t get to see.”
    It was a small concrete yard. Cages with old-fashioned iron bars lined the walls. They were linked by heavy mesh tunnels with sliding gates at each end.
    “We’ll get the tigers shut in here first, then we can go in to the public enclosure. We’ve had new doors fitted recently: there are at least four of them between you and the tigers. You’ll be fine.” Kylie slid open the one to the public enclosure and whistled. Like trained circus animals, three tigers responded to her summons. With practised ease she threw each one a small piece of meat, and before I’d had a chance to see what she’d done with the gates