Revenge of the Beetle Queen

by M. G. Leonard

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One: Snow White

  Chapter Two: Pop-Pop Pie

  Chapter Three: Beetle Ball

  Chapter Four: Base Camp Blues

  Chapter Five: Turning Rogue

  Chapter Six: Migrating Jailbirds

  Chapter Seven: What Happened to Spencer Crips?

  Chapter Eight: Scud

  Chapter Nine: Entomophagy

  Chapter Ten: Daedalus Complex

  Chapter Eleven: Warning Flare

  Chapter Twelve: The Cavalry

  Chapter Thirteen: Lady Macbeth

  Chapter Fourteen: Darkened Heights

  Chapter Fifteen: Forest Fire

  Chapter Sixteen: Rescue and Ruin

  Chapter Seventeen: Daily News

  Chapter Eighteen: Bombardier Jet

  Chapter Nineteen: The Darkest Hour

  Chapter Twenty: Beetle Wake

  Chapter Twenty-One: A Meddle of Mothers

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Narsarsuaq

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Dr. Yuki Ishikawa

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Hark the Herald Angels

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Hosanna in ex-Darkus

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Baggage

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Einstein’s Workshop

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Cleopatra’s Daughter

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dumpster Motel

  Chapter Thirty: Stage Door

  Chapter Thirty-One: Beetle Insurrection

  Chapter Thirty-Two: The Battle of the Ballgowns

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Predator and Prey

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Stowaways

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Christmas Day

  An Entomologist’s Dictionary

  Sneak Peek at The Elephant Thief

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by M. G. Leonard

  Copyright

  There was a gentle tap on the door.

  “Madame?”

  Lucretia Cutter turned her head, her lidless eyes glistening like two inky cysts. Her four black chitinous legs clung effortlessly to the white ceiling, the fabric of her purple skirt tumbling toward the floor. “Yes, Gerard?” she replied.

  “The American actress Ruby Hisolo Jr. has arrived for her dress fitting,” the French butler said through the door. He was forbidden from entering the White Room unless invited.

  “You can bring her down.”

  “As you wish, Madame.”

  She listened as the discreet footsteps of the butler retreated up the hallway. It was thrilling to be able to detect the slightest movement in the space around her. Her new body and heightened senses made her powerful. She hungered for the moment when she could show the world who she really was. And it was coming. Soon.

  She reached out with her human forearms and crawled to the wall beside the door, descending at alarming speed, reaching the floor and flipping up onto her hind legs. She folded her middle legs into special pockets in the lining of her skirt as she walked across the room, zipping up the split and hiding away her beetle body. She picked up the black wig that lay lifeless on her glass desk and pulled it on, then lifted her white lab coat from the back of the Plexiglas chair. Sliding her hands into the sleeves, she shrugged it onto her shoulders, then whipped out a pair of oversize sunglasses from a pocket and pushed them onto her nose, covering her compound eyes.

  She pivoted to check herself in the mirror, grabbing the ebony walking stick that was propped up against the desk. She didn’t need the stick, but it encouraged people to believe that she’d had a car accident, and the accident had provided a plausible cover story while she’d metamorphosed within her pupation chamber.

  Her senses twitched. She felt vibrations from silent footsteps, those belonging to her personal bodyguard.

  Ling Ling was a Kunoichi, a female ninja, trained by Toshitsugu Takamatsu, the bodyguard of Pu Yi, the last Chinese emperor. She had been the youngest principal dancer in the New York City Ballet, but her career ended during a performance of Swan Lake, when her ankle shattered as she executed the Black Swan’s legendary thirty-two fouettés at a record-breaking speed. Ling Ling had hung up her pointe shoes to take up the ninjato sword, and she was deadly.

  Lucretia Cutter opened the door. Ling Ling was waiting outside, dressed in her customary black suit.

  “Any sign of those wretched beetles?”

  Ling Ling shook her head. “Craven and Dankish are still looking.”

  “Imbeciles,” Lucretia Cutter muttered. “Send out the yellow ladybugs. I need eyes all over the city. Those blasted beetles could ruin everything for me. I want them found, and I want them destroyed.”

  Ling Ling gave a curt nod.

  The battle with the Emporium beetles had been unexpected, and Lucretia Cutter wasn’t in the habit of losing a fight. She wanted the beetles obliterated, not only because they were evidence of her secret work farming transgenic insects, but because they had publicly humiliated her. She’d had to bribe a lot of people to stay out of prison and keep the images of her new eyes off the front pages of the newspapers. Those beetles had cost her time and money, and she wouldn’t be happy until they were ground into dust.

  “And, Ling Ling, to accompany our spies, send out the venomous Coccinellidae—the eleven-spotted yellow ladybugs. If there’s anybody else out there poking their nose into my business, I want them eliminated.” She raised her index finger. “Although they’re not to touch Bartholomew Cuttle. Understood? He’s mine.”

  Ling Ling bowed and padded away.

  Lucretia Cutter closed the door. Bartholomew’s escape had upset her, but he’d be back. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. Tapping her forefinger against her top lip, she contemplated the renegade beetles. Really, she should be commending herself on their abilities—they’d come from her laboratories, after all.

  She smiled. Who’d have thought splicing Bartholomew Cuttle’s DNA with beetle DNA would have had such impressive results? Coleoptera that thought for themselves and demonstrated free will? That was new. She’d never seen a mix of beetle species cooperating to fight an enemy. It was exciting—although, she’d noticed, they lacked a killer instinct. She sneered. They probably inherited Bartholomew’s soft heart. Her new beetles were part German shepherd: trainable, able to fight and carry out orders. She’d bred an army of obedient slaves, and right now, that was all she needed.

  Walking over to the two-way mirror behind her desk, she pulled a lipstick from her lab-coat pocket, applying the shimmering gold paint and smacking her lips together. She could throttle that Crips boy for freeing the Cuttle beetles. He’d set her work back years.

  A knock on the door and the sound of a well-known husky giggle made her turn around.

  “Come in.” She fixed a polite smile on her face.

  Gerard opened the door and a sultry blond girl in a pink sweater and white pleated skirt tottered in.

  “Ruby, darling, so good to see you,” Lucretia said, crossing the room.

  Ruby Hisolo Jr. flicked her blond curls over her shoulder and looked critically around the sparsely decorated room.

  “Wow! Who’s your interior designer?” She lifted her hand. “No. Don’t say. Whoever it is, fire them. It’s like some kinda science lab in here.” She grimaced. “It’s creepy.” She jabbed a perfectly manicured finger at Lucretia Cutter. “You’re taking the pharmacy-chic thing way too far. What this room needs is a splash of color”—she flicked her finger at random areas of the room—“apricot or peach. And cushions. Everybody loves cushions. I know a great guy if you need help”—she giggled—“which I think we both know you do.”

  Lucretia Cutter didn’t reply, her expression re
maining a polite smile throughout the awkward silence that followed.

  “Just tryin’ to help,” Ruby sighed, unconcerned. She fluttered her eyelashes at Gerard. “I’m thirsty. Got any bubbles?”

  The butler went to a fridge under the lab bench, taking out a frosted glass and a dark green bottle. He opened the bottle, filled the champagne flute, and handed the glass to the waiting actress.

  Lucretia Cutter clapped her hands together. “So, are we going to steal the hearts of the world at the Film Awards?”

  “Of course I am.” Ruby emptied her glass in one gulp, handed it back to the butler, and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Why else would I be here?”

  “Good.” Lucretia Cutter smiled through gritted teeth and reminded herself that this fitting was important. “Gerard, bring in Snow White.”

  “Snow White? Who’s Snow White?” Ruby frowned. “I thought this was my fitting? I told your people on the phone. I’m a big star now, and I ain’t gonna …”

  Gerard wheeled in a dark slender trunk that was as tall as he was.

  “I call my creation Snow White because it is made from the purest white substance to be found in the natural world,” said Lucretia Cutter.

  Gerard flicked the catches and the door of the trunk swung open. The inside of the box glowed with light radiating from a delicate dress that hung on a gold hanger.

  “Oh my!” Ruby’s manicured fingertips brushed against her red lips as she gasped in awe. “It’s a dress made of fairy dust!” She stepped toward the trunk, stretching out her hand to touch it.

  “Actually, it’s made of beetles.”

  “It’s what?” Ruby snatched back her hand.

  “The Cyphochilus beetle, to be precise,” Lucretia continued, “an Asian beetle. The extreme whiteness comes from a thin layer of reflective photonic solid on its scales. These scales are whiter than any paper or material mankind has produced. There is a complex molecular geometry to their scales, which are able to scatter light with supreme efficiency.”

  Ruby was peering at the dress with horror. “You’re telling me that dress is made from bugs? They’re dead, right?”

  “To produce such perfect white scales, Cyphochilus beetles must deflect all colors with equal strength,” Lucretia Cutter said. “This is a miracle rarely found in nature. But to use these perfect white scales in a garment designed for a ceremony filled with light, cameras with flashbulbs, spotlights—well, that has never been done.” She looked Ruby Hisolo Jr. in the eye. “The wearer of this dress will dazzle everyone who looks upon her. She will truly be a star.”

  Ruby’s eyes flickered back to the dress in the box.

  “Would you like to try it on?” Lucretia Cutter whispered, coming closer to the actress. “I’ve tailored it perfectly for your figure.”

  Ruby nodded her head slowly. “Mm-hmm. Okay.”

  Lucretia Cutter signaled for Gerard to take the dress out of the trunk and hang it on the white modesty screen standing on the other side of the room. “Go behind the screen and slip it on. Gerard will get out the mirror for you.”

  Ruby eyed the dress cautiously. “They’re just bugs, right?”

  “Precisely.” Lucretia Cutter nodded, her smile fixed firmly on her face as she watched the actress walk hesitantly across the room and go behind the screen. “Just bugs.”

  “Aww, man.” Ruby sighed as she slid the dress over her head. “This dress feels unbelievable.”

  The American actress came out, barefoot, wearing Snow White, and the polite smile on Lucretia Cutter’s face relaxed into a real one. The dress was dazzling, cut like a 1920s flapper dress, but instead of sequins or beads, it was covered in tiny white beetle elytra, shimmering and reflecting light with every movement of the actress’s body.

  Gerard folded out the lid and sides of the trunk to reveal three full-length mirrors that allowed Ruby to see herself from all angles. She turned her back to the mirrors and looked over her shoulder, pouting at herself.

  “Oh YES!” She jumped up and down in excitement. “I look out of this world!”

  “As radiant as a goddess.” Lucretia Cutter nodded.

  “Yeah. Look at me. I’m a total goddess.” Ruby put her hands on her hips and leaned into the mirror, showing off her ample bosom. “I gotta have this dress.” She shimmied, and the beetles gave a satisfying rattle. “No other girl at the Film Awards is gonna have a dress like this.”

  “Other dresses will look like dirty rags next to this one,” Lucretia Cutter said. “And when the flashbulbs pop, as you glide down that red carpet, every one of these beetle scales will reflect the light perfectly, giving you the aura of an angel.”

  “As long as I look better than Stella Manning.” Ruby paraded toward the mirror and then away again. “That old witch is yesterday’s news. This year, I want all eyes on me. It’s gonna be me giving the tearful speeches and getting the Film Award.”

  “I can promise, no one will be able to take their eyes off you. This dress will go down in history. It will never be forgotten.”

  “Who knew beetles could be pretty?” Ruby threw up her hands dramatically. “I’ll just die if anyone else wears it!”

  “I’m honored that an actress of your caliber will be wearing my creation to the Film Awards.”

  “My stylist said you were a genius, Letitia—”

  “Lucretia—”

  “—mm-hmm, Letitia, whatever,” Ruby said, still marveling at her own reflection, “and I didn’t believe her. But how wrong was I?”

  “You’re too kind.” Lucretia Cutter’s patience was wearing thin. “However, I must tell you that if you want to wear this dress to the Film Awards, there are some rules that you must agree to.”

  “Rules?” Ruby frowned. “What kinda rules?”

  “You will not see the dress again until the morning of the ceremony, when a member of my staff will come and do the fitting, then drive you to the awards in one of my cars. You are allowed to tell the press that you are wearing a Cutter Couture creation, but you must not describe the dress to anyone. It is to be a secret.”

  “A secret?” Ruby arched an eyebrow. “I love that!” She clapped. “I’ll surprise the world when I step out of the limo onto the red carpet. Yes!” She held out her hand to Lucretia Cutter. “Lulu, you got a deal.”

  “Then the dress is yours,” Lucretia Cutter said, ignoring the actress’s outstretched hand.

  “Sweet.” Ruby shrugged, taking one last look at herself in the mirror before skipping behind the screen and, a second later, handing the dress to Gerard. She came out, pulling her pink sweater over her blond curls and slipping her white stilettos back on. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Lulu.” Ruby stopped to check her makeup in the mirror.

  “Oh no,” Lucretia Cutter replied, “the pleasure will be entirely mine.” She gestured to the door. “Gerard will show you out.”

  After the door had closed behind them, Lucretia Cutter turned to Snow White, admiring her creation. She tilted her head back, and from deep within her throat she made a ghastly clicking sound.

  The dress, hanging in the open trunk, shimmered and vibrated like it was coming apart, suddenly exploding into a whirlwind of movement as thousands of specially bred Cyphochilus beetles flew out of their fastenings and swarmed around Lucretia Cutter’s head like a sparkling tornado.

  Lucretia laughed. This was going to be so easy.

  Dr. Bartholomew Cuttle carefully set down two plates on the table in Uncle Max’s kitchen, each piled with steaming hot minced lamb in gravy, mashed potatoes, cubed carrots, and a pool of peas.

  “Thank you, Dr. Cuttle, sir,” Bertolt Roberts said in a polite squeak, pushing his oversize spectacles up his nose.

  “It’s my pleasure, Bertolt.” Bartholomew Cuttle wiped his hands on his jeans as he turned back to the kitchen worktop. “I’m not much of a chef”—he picked up another two plates—“but this is something I can cook. It’s a family recipe, passed down from father to son.”

  �
�Mmmmm.” Virginia Wallace breathed in the smell of the food as she reached for her cutlery. Quick as a shot, Bertolt slapped the back of her hand. Virginia scowled at him but returned her hands to her lap.

  “It’s basically the ingredients of a shepherd’s pie”—he put a plate of food in front of Darkus—“just not in a pie.” He chuckled as he sat down beside his son. Darkus loved the way the skin around his dad’s blue eyes crinkled when he smiled, spreading happiness to the edges of his face. “My father made this for me when I was young, and now I make it for my son.” He gave Darkus an affectionate look and ruffled his brush of dark hair. “It’s your favorite, isn’t it, Darkus? Pop-Pop pie, he calls it, after my father.”

  “Dad!” Darkus pulled a face, but felt a warm glow in his chest and a smile tweaking the edges of his mouth. Only a few weeks ago, he’d desperately wished for his dad to be joking around like this, and now, here he was. Uncle Max said that, as he was just out of the hospital, they had to take care not to let him exhaust himself, but Dad got stronger every day. Soon things would be back to normal and they would go home.

  He looked across the table. He was going to miss seeing Bertolt and Virginia every day. They were the best friends he’d ever had.

  “Tuck in, everyone,” his dad said.

  “Pop-Pop pie?” Virginia snorted, grabbing her fork, mixing the peas, meat, and carrots into the potato, and shoveling it into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten in a week.

  “It’s delicious, Dr. Cuttle, sir,” Bertolt said, before he’d taken a bite.

  “Please, Bertolt, you’ve got to stop calling me sir. Mr. Cuttle is fine. Or, if you like, call me Barty—everyone else does.”

  “I couldn’t possibly …” Bertolt spluttered, his ghostly complexion flushing pink. “I mean, you’re the director of science at the Natural History Museum, and—”

  “We mostly call you Darkus’s dad,” Virginia butted in, her mouth so full her brown cheeks were puffed out like a squirrel’s. She swallowed. “It’s only when you’re around that Bertolt gets all weird and calls you sir.”

  Bertolt stared down at his dinner, eating it like it was a complicated puzzle in need of solving. He was blushing so hard that Darkus could see his scalp through his frizz of white curls.