This Broken Wondrous World

by Jon Skovron

  “Yes, yes, I know how you hate to bring that up as frequently as you do.”

  Kemp laughed.

  “How’s Millicent?” I asked.

  There was a sudden pause and I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned his wife.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “No,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “No, it’s fine. In fact, thank you. So few people ask after her anymore.”

  “So, Boy, what is it you wanted?” asked Ruthven.

  For a moment I was relieved that Ruthven had changed the subject. But then I realized it was time to start lying. “Uh, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mom has been completely avoiding meeting Henri.”

  “And you’re surprised?”

  “No, but it means that I’ve hardly seen her. And, I mean, how long is she going to keep this up?”

  “What do you propose?”

  “Could you, like, formally introduce Henri to her?”

  “The old ‘rip the Band-Aid off’ approach?”

  I shrugged.

  He sighed and pressed his hands together in a steeple. “I suppose it needs to happen at some point.” He turned to Kemp. “Would you mind if we take a quick break?”

  “Not at all. I believe I heard my Sophie out in the lobby a moment ago. I’ll go and catch up with her while you take care of this.”

  “Thanks. It shouldn’t take too long.” Ruthven stood and his shadows swirled around him. “Unless, of course, the Bride starts smashing things in a righteous fury.”

  “I never know whether anyone’s joking anymore,” Henri whispered to me.

  AS WE FOLLOWED Ruthven through the corridors, Henri asked me, “Who’s Millicent?”

  “Oh, Kemp’s wife.”

  “Why was it so awkward when you asked how she is doing?”

  “Because she’s kind of in . . . like a vegetative state or something.”

  “For how long?”

  “A long time. And it’s sort of his fault.”

  “Was it a car accident or something?”

  “No, a long time ago, he’d discovered that a side effect of his invisibility formula was halting the aging process. Millicent wanted to stop aging so that she could live on with Kemp, but she didn’t want to become invisible. She convinced him to try to isolate just that part of the formula that stopped aging.”

  “And it didn’t go well?”

  “Well, it did stop her from aging,” I said. “But I guess when he’d tried to block the invisibility component, he overcompensated. Now she’s like the opposite of invisible.”

  “Hypervisible?”

  “Yeah, she seems to pull at your vision, to swallow up everything, including light. Like a human-shaped black hole. I think her matter is so dense, that’s why she can’t move or speak. So he’s had to basically be her nurse ever since, feeding her, bathing her, everything.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “We used to talk about her a lot when I was in LA, and I spent time with them together. But maybe he didn’t want to show that side of himself in front of Ruthven.”

  “Yes, I saw some of that rivalry you were talking about.”

  Ruthven led us down into the caverns where most of the company lived. Henri’s eyes darted everywhere as he took in the winding hallways, glancing down every passageway we crossed.

  “How far does this go?” he asked.

  “About a hundred feet down,” said Ruthven. “And it stretches nearly a quarter mile from one end to the other. It took the trowe more than a decade to carve it out.”

  “Unbelievable!” he said.

  I’d always taken the caverns for granted because I grew up in them. But they were pretty incredible, especially considering the trowe hadn’t used a tunnel bore or any other industrial machinery. Then again, the New York subway system was spectacular, too, and that had been made just by humans. It made me wonder what could happen if humans and monsters worked together.

  I knocked on the door to my parents’ apartment, and after a moment, my mom answered.

  “Boy? I . . .” Then she saw Henri. Her expression remained the same as always, of course. But somehow, the way she stared at him reminded me of the way Henri had been staring at Kemp. Like she just couldn’t reconcile him with her reality.

  “Hello, Bride,” said Ruthven. “May we come in?”

  She looked at Ruthven, and I could hear the stitches along her jaw strain with tension. After a really long moment of silence, she said, “Yes.”

  She backed up slowly, her eyes never leaving Henri. The rest of us filed into the apartment. It looked exactly the same as the last time I’d seen it: a tiny living area, with a little kitchenette, a single table with a couple of chairs, and a TV bolted to the wall. And of course mom’s pile of junk in the corner that she liked to fiddle with to make stuff.

  “Henri Frankenstein,” said Ruthven, “may I introduce the Bride of Frankenstein.”

  “Madame la Mariée,” said Henri, and bowed. “It is such an honor to meet you at last. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

  She did not move, or even blink.

  “Mom?” I put my hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Her head jerked to me. “Is . . . he really human?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And . . . he is your friend?”

  “He is our family,” I said. “He is our blood.”

  She looked at me, and her head tilted to one side. “Blood?”

  “Poor choice of words, perhaps,” murmured Ruthven.

  “Okay, forget that,” I said. “Look, I know this is really hard for you. I just . . . This is really important to me. Think about what this could mean. Not just for me, or even for us. But for all humans and monsters. This could be the beginning of something amazing.”

  “Humans and monsters.” She turned away from me then and walked over to her junk pile. She picked up an iron and slowly, carefully dismantled it, placing the pieces one by one back on the pile.

  We all waited.

  Finally, she turned back to us, like she had just remembered we were still there.

  “Henri Frankenstein. Thank you for the friendship you have shown my son. You are . . . welcome here.”

  Then she turned back to her pile of junk and began to sort through it. After a minute or so it was pretty obvious she was done with us, so we left.

  As we walked back through the cavern hallways, Henri said, “So . . . did that go well?”

  “Better than I expected,” said Ruthven. “Maybe the old girl is loosening up a bit.” Then he turned to me and smiled, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. “Well, do you think we’ve given Sophie enough time to pry the secrets from dear old Kemp?”

  AS HENRI AND I followed Ruthven back to the lobby, I tried to think of some way of signaling to Sophie that they were onto us. But when we got there, it was pretty clear she already knew.

  She stood with her hands in her curly hair, shaking her head. “God, I feel like an idiot.”

  “There, there.” Kemp’s voice was soothing as he patted her shoulder with his invisible hand. “It’s not your fault. Your boyfriend is a dreadful liar, that’s all. Really, I would consider that a positive quality if I were you.”

  “Here we are,” said Ruthven. “All cards on the table.”

  Sophie turned and glared at him. “You sneaky vampire!”

  He smiled faintly and nodded.

  “So you already planned to tell us about what you’re up to?”

  “Indeed.”

  He turned to the goblin twins, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop. “Curmthulia and Rughutla, see that we are not disturbed. For anything. Is that clear?”

  We followed Ruthven back to his office. My dad was w
aiting for us inside. Kemp firmly closed the door behind us. It felt really weird to be in here, on this side of the closed door.

  Ruthven settled back at his desk with Kemp on one side and my father on the other.

  “First,” said Ruthven. “I don’t blame you for attempting to get some answers. I have been rather vague on my knowledge of Robert and you were right to be suspicious. Good instincts.”

  “So it is about Robert!” said Sophie.

  “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” I asked.

  “Until this morning, we weren’t sure if we were going to tell you at all,” said Ruthven.

  “Ruthven was . . . being protective,” said Kemp. “As soon as I heard Robert had been found, I rushed out here.”

  “Kemp reminded me that you both have proven that you are able to handle yourselves in difficult situations,” said Ruthven.

  “I won him over with the bit about how you saved The Show and quite possibly the city of New York,” said Kemp.

  “At any rate,” said Ruthven, “yes, Sophie, this is about Robert.”

  “Is . . . is he . . .” Her voice was very small. “Dead?”

  Ruthven regarded her curiously for a moment. “No, my dear. He is not. Not yet, anyway, although if he doesn’t become more discreet, he might end up that way soon.”

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “Peru,” said Kemp.

  “What on earth is he doing there?” asked Sophie.

  “Causing trouble, apparently,” said Ruthven. “He’s been arrested several times by the local authorities. And he keeps escaping.”

  “Just like prison,” asked Sophie. “How is he doing it?”

  “That’s one of the things we need to find out.”

  “What is he getting arrested for?” I asked.

  “Killing humans,” my dad said.

  “Robert?” asked Sophie, looking confused. “But he’s always wanted to be human.”

  “He practically is, since he eliminated his Hyde aspect,” said Ruthven. “Be that as it may, apparently he’s been attacking them, more or less in the open. He knows a lot about The Studio, and I’m sure he’s aware of The Show as well. I think it’s only a matter of time before he starts talking to Peruvian authorities about us. We’ve already had one scare this year; let’s not make it two.”

  “So I suggested,” said Kemp, “that if we need to send someone down to bring him in, perhaps it should be you and Claire.”

  “Us?” said Sophie. “But . . .”

  “Boy will be with you for protection and support, of course,” continued Kemp. “And it would do you and Claire both a world of good to face him.”

  “It wouldn’t be just you and Boy,” said Ruthven. “I want some people with experience there. We have a local contact in Lima who will assist you. And Mozart, since he’s the one who tracked your brother down in the first place.”

  “Mozart?” I asked. “That’s awesome!”

  “Which one is he again?” asked Henri.

  “The werewolf,” I said.

  “So . . .” said Ruthven. His red eyes went first to me, then to Sophie. “Would you like to be the ones to bring him in?”

  Sophie turned to Kemp. “You really think it would be . . . good for us?”

  “I do,” he said. “He’s your brother. And people change. Perhaps he’ll surprise you.”

  She turned to my dad.

  “No one can run from family forever,” he said.

  She turned back to me, chewing on her lip.

  “He caught us off guard last time,” I said. “We’ve learned a lot since then. I think we can handle him, especially if Mozart’s going to be with us.”

  She stood there, her eyes staring off, probably talking it out with Claire. We all waited.

  Finally, she looked back first at Kemp, then at Ruthven, and nodded. “Okay. We’ll do it.”

  “Wonderful.” Ruthven waved his hand vaguely in Henri’s direction. “Do you plan to take your pet human with you?”

  “Well?” I asked Henri.

  “Werewolves and fugitive brothers in South America?” asked Henri, his grin slowly surfacing. “How could I miss that?”

  10

  The Freudian Slip

  WHEN WE LANDED in Lima, it was humid and cloudy. By the time we got out to the pickup area, I was already sweating from the thick air. I missed the December chill of New York, or better yet, the hard cold of Geneva.

  But then, past the taxis and tour buses, I saw a middle-aged, bearded guy in aviator sunglasses leaning against a beat-up old station wagon. He gave a slow, casual wave.

  There are just some people that, when you see them, you get a little kick of hope. They just have this air about them that makes everything seems a little more possible. Mozart was one of those people.

  “There he is,” I said as I started toward him.

  “So this Mozart is a friend of yours?” asked Henri as he and Sophie followed me.

  “He introduced Boy and me,” said Sophie. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, but underneath it all, he’s a complete sweetheart.”

  “Don’t say that to his face, though,” I said. “He is still a werewolf.”

  “Well, well, well,” said Mozart, white teeth showing through the brown-and-gray streaks of his beard. “I was hoping I’d get to see you kids. And you’ve got a new guy? Ruthven said there was a third, but he didn’t say who it was.”

  “Henri Frankenstein, monsieur,” said Henri, and offered his hand.

  Mozart’s bushy eyebrow shot up as he shook Henri’s hand. “A human, huh? And a Frankenstein at that. Interesting.”

  “Henri’s cool. I promise,” I said.

  Mozart held up his hands. “Hey, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not a human hater. Never have been. And anyway, this isn’t The Show. Or even the States for that matter. Things are different down here. The lines are . . . blurrier.”

  He helped us load our suitcases into the back of the station wagon. Then he took the driver’s seat and Sophie took shotgun, while Henri and I climbed into the back.

  “My friend Maria doesn’t live too far from here. If you want we can go there first, have something to eat, and prepare a little. Or we could just cut to the chase and go right for Robert. Your call.”

  “Sophie?” I asked.

  “You know where he is right now?” she asked.

  “The Plaza de Armas. It’s a big open town square area.”

  “What’s he doing?” I asked.

  “Same thing he’s been doing off and on since I found him a couple of weeks ago. Getting as drunk as possible.”

  Sophie’s jaw set. “Let’s just go get him, then.”

  Mozart smiled wide. “Atta girl.”

  We drove along a coastal highway, but it was too hazy to see much of the Pacific. On the other side of the road were buildings painted in bright yellows, reds, blues, even a few orange or purple. More than language, those colors were what immediately set Lima apart from beige Geneva and gray New York.

  “I could get used to this place,” said Henri. “Do you think we’ll be able to stay a while after we take care of Robert?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It would be nice. But I also want to get back to the city by Christmas.”

  “I’m just talking about getting a few days of beach and sampling some good Peruvian food.”

  “We’ll have to see how this goes,” I said.

  “You’re not worried about Robert, are you?” asked Henri. “They all said he’s harmless.”

  “He’s also totally psychotic. I just can’t believe it’s really going to be that easy to bring him in.”

  “What till you see him,” Mozart called back from the driver’s seat.

  “That bad?” asked Sophie.

  “I hardly recognized
him. I do think Boy’s right, though. Sometimes the most desperate ones are the most dangerous. Sophie, let’s start off with you trying to talk him into coming along quietly. But if things go bad, I want you and Henri to get behind Boy and me. The two of us can handle anything he’s got. And who knows, maybe after we pound him a few times, he’ll come to his senses.”

  “And if not?” asked Henri.

  “Well . . .” Mozart glanced at Sophie. “Like Boy said, we’ll see how it goes.”

  MOZART PARKED THE car a few blocks from the Plaza de Armas. We walked the rest of the way through the narrow, crowded streets until we came to a big, open square with sections of grass, and paved walkways that led to a large fountain in the center. The square was surrounded by large, old buildings with decorative balconies, some of them painted a bright yellow, others a faded natural stone.

  “There he is.”

  Mozart pointed to a massive cathedral on the other side of the square. Splayed out on the steps of the cathedral was a figure clutching something in a brown paper bag. I could make out the familiar curly auburn hair, like Sophie’s. But he looked smaller than I remembered.

  “How do you want to do this?” Mozart asked Sophie. “Direct approach or take him by surprise?”

  “If we’re going to have any luck getting him to come peacefully, I think we should make sure he sees us coming,” she said.

  “What if he runs?”

  “He won’t.”

  Mozart shrugged. “Let’s do it, then. You go in front. Show him you’re not afraid.”

  With Sophie in the lead, we crossed the street and started walking through the square toward Robert. I really didn’t like how many humans were milling around the square, and I wondered if maybe Robert chose this spot for that reason.

  We were about halfway across when Robert slowly lifted his head and seemed to notice us. He didn’t move from his spot, though.

  “I don’t like this,” I muttered.

  Mozart sniffed the air and his eyes flashed gray and wolfish. “You’re about to like it a lot less. Something’s coming, and it isn’t human.”

  “What?” I turned first one way, then the other. “From where?”