A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

I was squatting over another patch of dulled coral, on a semi-dried part of the reefs area, trying not to think about how bad things were getting. The coral reef I was collecting samples from had looked better in the pictures.

Now, it was all brittle skeletons and faded colors. The algae coating half of it felt like a sign—this wasn't just coral that had died, it was coral that had given up.

I sighed, straightened up, and placed the small fragments I'd gathered into my sample bag. A few more tests and maybe—just maybe—we'd figure out how to stop this before it got worse.

That's when I saw them—a group of wide-eyed tourists stumbling through the reef. And I mean stumbling. They didn't seem to care about where they were stepping—on rocks, on shells, and worst of all, on the coral.

I winced as one guy's flip-flop crunched down on a brittle branch of it, oblivious.

They spotted me and rushed over, all excitement and entitlement. "Hey! Excuse me!" A woman at the front waved, eyes alight with a tourist's sense of misplaced urgency. "We're supposed to meet our tour guide here. Are you him?"

I blinked. "Uh, no."

She gave me a once-over. I was decked out in my MECCP uniform—safety goggles perched on my forehead, safety boots covered in mud, and a pair of forceps still dangling from my hand. Tour guide? Really?

I raised my ID badge. "I'm with MECCP. I'm conducting research here."

Her brow furrowed like I'd just spoken another language. "Oh… so when's the tour starting?"

I resisted the urge to smack myself in the face with my forceps. "No tour. Research. Like, you know, saving the reef from imminent destruction?"

The woman's face pinched up like I'd just ruined her vacation. She glanced over her shoulder, and I noticed for the first time that there was a whole pack of them—some old, some young, and one girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen, wearing a PinkCorals concert shirt. The logo sparkled obnoxiously under the dull sun.

Oh no, not a PinkC.

The teen wrinkled her nose at the coral around us. "This is it? This place looks like a garbage dump."

"It's not a tourist site," I said, pointing down at the cracked, fragile coral beneath their feet. "And you really need to be careful where you step. These corals are endangered."

"I'm careful." She rolled her eyes and kicked a broken piece of coral with her sneaker. "But seriously, this isn't what they advertised. They said this was where the PinkCorals filmed their video! You guys scamming us?"

"Wait—what?" I stared at her. "I don't work for a tour guide company."

"You look like you do," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You're wearing a uniform."

I was speechless. Did they think the safety goggles and forceps were part of some weird tour guide costume?

"I'm with the Mythical and Endangered Creatures Care and Protection," I said, pronouncing each word slowly, like they'd never heard of conservation before. Which, honestly, they probably hadn't. "This is an off-limits area. You really shouldn't be here—"

But the moment the word "off-limits" left my mouth, chaos erupted.

"You took our money!" the girl shouted, pointing at me as if I personally sold her the world's worst Groupon deal. "I want a refund!"

And just like that, the rest of the group began to rally around her. A chorus of complaints broke out, fingers pointed at me, and someone tried to grab my arm like I was a delinquent staff member on the run.

Meanwhile, their sandals and sneakers stomped over the very coral I was trying to save, crushing what little life was left.

I tried to back away, hands up. "I'm not with the tour company!" I insisted, my voice shaking a little now. "And if you keep stepping on the coral, you're going to destroy—"

"No, you're the one destroying it!" someone yelled, and the tourists started closing in on me.

Panic flared. I didn't sign up for this. I was a zoologist—not a punching bag for entitled, misinformed visitors.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I heard the shrill sound of a siren in the distance.

The Atlantis police. Thank Mythica.

In seconds, a squad of officers appeared, their sleek uniforms glowing slightly as they dismounted their watercrafts.

The next thing I knew, I was being escorted—no, dragged—away from the scene. The tourists were yelling something about scams and fraud while the police led me to the nearest precinct. I caught a glimpse of one of the coral samples tumbling out of my bag, lost in the chaos.

Great.

I sat in the precinct with seaweed in my drenched hair and wet sand in places I didn't even want to think about. My Mythica uniform was covered in dirt and seaweed, and I could still hear the echoes of those tourists yelling in my ears.

"Tour guide," I muttered bitterly. "Tour guide, my foot."

Across from me, an officer was typing into a computer, barely acknowledging my existence. I glanced around, dazed, waiting for Dr. Philippe to show up and hopefully get me out of this nightmare.

Eventually, he did. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and exasperation when he walked in. "What the hell happened?"

"Tourists," I groaned, rubbing the back of my neck. "They thought I was a tour guide. Next thing I know, they're shouting about refunds and smashing up the coral."

Dr. Philippe pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in Elf langauge under his breath. He explained to the officers that we were from the MECCP Habitat Conservation Department, and after showing them our permits and my staff ID, they finally agreed to let me go.

The officer who had been typing earlier gave me a brief look. "Sorry for the misunderstanding. We only received a report about fraudulent tour activity."

"Fraudulent tour activity?" I scoffed, waving my ID badge again. "Do I look like a tour guide in this uniform?"

The officer looked me up and down, his eyes squinting. "Well… you've got that kind of face, you know? The kind that just screams 'fraud.'"

I gawked at him. Did he just—

Without another word, I stormed out of the precinct, seething. "FYI. My face is fine! And I am good looking!" I snapped over my shoulder, though it was clear none of them were listening.

Dr. Philippe followed me out, stifling a laugh. "Welcome to Atlantis," he said dryly.