Monstrous

by MarcyKate Connolly

  “What is the difference between science and magic?” I do not wish to confuse the two and mistake an innocent man for the wizard.

  “More than you think, but less than is visible to the naked eye. Magic is an essence that can be wielded; science requires a knowledge of the physical elements. Both can be used to manipulate the world you see around you. A spell cannot be cast with science, but you can still make unusual things happen.”

  “Like me?”

  He glances up from the stiff chicken. “Precisely.”

  My face lights up with understanding. It is beginning to make sense.

  I position myself on the other side of the table to watch Father work. He murmurs and moves his hands quickly. It is mesmerizing, but not enough that I forget the question troubling me since I spoke to the girl upstairs.

  “What did my mother look like?”

  Father stops what he is doing and pales deeply. “Oh, Kym. Why must you ask that?”

  My face warms. “I think I might remember her. A little.”

  “What do you mean?” Father frowns.

  “That girl. She mentioned her mother. And then I saw something in my mind. A glimpse of a woman in blue skirts. It was so real, I could almost feel the fabric between my fingers.” I am not sure how to voice that roaring feeling inside when I had the vision, but I hope my stumbling words give Father enough to go on.

  Father leaves the chicken and pulls me into an embrace. “My dear child, your mother was the loveliest creature. Your eyes are just like hers, and you have her sweetness, too. If you saw something it is only a snippet of memory your brain has retained. Do not be troubled by it, and do not search for more like it. Any memories you have left will be scattered and confusing. It will only grieve you to glimpse what you cannot have back.”

  The truth of Father’s words chills me. Whatever my mother was to me once is lost forever.

  He returns to his work, and I watch in silence for several minutes, my mind wandering back to my travels the night before.

  “Are you certain the curfew is still in effect?”

  “Without question,” he says, then pauses. “Why do you ask?”

  “Might the king have changed his mind?”

  “That is unlikely, given the wizard’s continued torment of the people.” He places his hands on the edge of the table. “Why, Kymera?”

  I am suddenly uncomfortable. He gazes at me with a strange intensity and I know I must tell him about the boy I saw run by the fountain. Part of me resists. Part of me wants to keep that secret, that boy, to myself.

  But Father has been so good and generous to me, I cannot keep anything from him. He must know all about the mission. I do not want to make any errors that might allow the wizard to proceed with his horrible scheme.

  “Kymera?” He stares harder than before.

  “There was a boy. I think. He ran by me. At the square with a cherub fountain.”

  Father’s hands tighten around the edge of the table, causing threads of blue veins to pop out on the skin. “Did he see you?” he whispers tightly.

  A twinge of fear shivers down my spine. I shake my head. “I hid in the shadows. He had no idea I was there. It struck me as odd because of the curfew.”

  His hands loosen their grip, but his eyes get a faraway look in them, like he is no longer in the room with me. “Yes, that is odd. I am glad you told me.” His eyes meet mine. “If you see anything else out of place, you must tell me. Above all, you must not let this boy or any other human see you. Do you understand, Kymera?”

  “Yes, Father. I will stay hidden. I promise.”

  “Good girl. Now hold this.” He gives me the cold, fuzzy legs, guiding my hand to press them to the chicken body. Both are mangled, but as Father mutters and sprinkles them with herbs from his shelves—pepper to warm, aloe to heal—they thaw and change form before my eyes. The flesh is soft and warm now.

  My father is truly an amazing man.

  He fastens the legs to the chicken with tiny bolts and resumes his muttering.

  “How long can we keep her?” My thoughts return to the girl sleeping in the top of the tower. “Will they all come and live with us?”

  Father looks aghast. “Of course not. Where would we put them all? We do not have room for that many girls.” At my crestfallen expression, he pats my shoulder. “Do not worry. She and all the others you fetch will go to a wonderful place. Much better than anything here.”

  “What about their mothers? Can they go, too? The girl said she misses her mother.” The remnants of the memory pinch inside my chest, but I swallow the feeling down.

  Father’s face goes slack for a split second. “Not yet. Perhaps when the wizard is gone they can join them.”

  I smile. “I think she would like that.” I run my finger over the outline of the chicken’s hoof while Father continues to fuss over the creature. “Tell me about the place we will send her.”

  He chuckles. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask that.” He shakes his head. “Belladoma is the most beautiful city in the world. It lies beyond the western mountains. The ruler is a kind, powerful man. He has a soft spot for young girls in trouble. They will be in the best of hands. The wizard would never think to seek them there. Belladoma’s alliance is with me, not the city. He is far too single-minded and focused on Bryre.”

  I frown. I feel . . . responsible. For the happiness of the girl upstairs and the others in that prison. “But will they have roses?”

  “They will have roses and posies and sunflowers and petunias and hyacinths and every flower you can imagine. They will stay in the palace with the king as his special guests.”

  I have not seen the palace in our city yet, but I plan to find it on one of my excursions. I imagine it must be very fine. How much more lovely must this one be in such a rich, happy kingdom!

  “Does Belladoma have creatures like them?” I motion to the skeletons on the ceiling. “And dragons or perhaps griffins?” Father’s fairy tales tell of such creatures, but I have seen none in Bryre. Not even here in the laboratory. They are supposed to be both wise and fearsome.

  Father grows serious. “I am afraid not. The last griffin died more than a century ago, and dragons have been hunted to the brink of extinction for their magic powers. More so than my friends here. They leave their bones behind, but dragons do not. They are pure magic, right down to their marrow.”

  “Who hunts them?” I wish to throttle anyone who would do such a thing.

  “Who do you think?”

  I hiss. “The wizard.”

  Father considers the contents of a cold box. “Not just him, but he certainly has had his share of dragons’ blood.”

  My claws snap into place. “Why?”

  He closes the cold box and examines his shelves instead. “It is how wizards got their powers in the first place. Dragons and humans once lived together in harmony. The dragons each shared an affinity with different elements—rock dragons with the earth, water dragons with the rivers, and so on. Eventually those who lived with the dragons began to absorb some of their magic. Those dragon riders became the first wizards.”

  “That does not make sense at all. If they were friends with the dragons, why would the wizards hunt them?”

  Father turns to face me. “Well, my dear, that is the tricky thing about power. People tend to want more of it. These wizards were still human, after all. They discovered that when the dragons died, all their powers transferred to those closest to them. And if they killed the dragons themselves, it sped up the process. Dragons can live for hundreds of years. Why wait around for one to die, when you could kill it right away? The more magic the wizards absorbed, the easier killing dragons became. They have all but disappeared now.” He taps a finger to his chin. “Though I did once hear a rumor that a dragon lived somewhere in the vicinity of Bryre. It would not surprise me at all if that was the reason our wizard came here in the first place.”

  “What an awful thing,” is all I can say through my
scowl. Poor dragons. Trusting those men to be their friends, even sharing their magic, however accidentally, only to be murdered by the very same.

  Father pulls a few bottles off the shelves and begins shaking drops on the chicken’s patched-up body. The flesh sucks them in like the sponges I use to wash the dishes.

  “Are there fountains in Belladoma? The laughing cherubs on the one I saw last night were so funny.” I need to change the subject before I get angry. Despite what the wizards may have done, I must save the people of Bryre, tonight and every night.

  “There are fountains and pools and gardens. Everything is green and bright as the mountains you must cross to get there.”

  My chest swells with pride. We will take these girls to that paradise. We will save them all. “I wish I could see it. It sounds perfect.”

  Father stops his work to squeeze my shoulder. “Someday, my dear, you will.”

  My eyes widen. “Really? I can?”

  “Of course. After the wizard is gone, we will spend the rest of our days there.”

  “When can we take the girl? I want to see it!”

  Father’s face darkens. “You misunderstand, child. We cannot take her there ourselves. It is too long a journey and we are needed here. My friend Darrell will take her.”

  Disappointment sets in. Father’s friend . . . “Is that the man who was scared of me?”

  Father snorts. “It is. But as long as you don’t appear as fearsome as the first time, we will not need to worry about that happening again.”

  “I will not, I promise.” I clasp my hands behind my back. “If we cannot go with them, can I at least have a fountain? For my garden?” I switch to my blue irises and smile hopefully.

  “Bring back a few more girls and I will see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Father!” I flap my wings happily, sending a plume of herbs skyward from an open bottle on the nearby shelf.

  “Yes, yes, now go take this chicken”—he places the stirring beast on the stone floor—“and introduce her to her new friends.”

  I marvel at the creature pecking at the floor of the tower. Father is good at fixing broken things. I believe he could fix anything. Even our broken city.

  While Father returns to the cottage, I let the chicken out in the yard and it clucks and paws the ground with the others. They move fast with their hooves, sometimes galloping in spurts when they get too excited. Just as they begin to do now. I sniff the air. Something has changed; a faintly recognizable odor pierces the hedge.

  Someone is coming. I run inside to alert Father and grab my cloak. I do not wish to frighten anyone. I must be presentable. I fasten the clasp around my neck, but the bolts still show. I frown, not wishing to remain hooded on such a warm day.

  “Father!” I cry. “Someone is coming through the hedge.”

  He appears in the hallway. “Thank you, my dear.” He pauses when he sees me holding my cloak up over my neck, the only way I can think of to hide the bolts and not wear a hood.

  “Wait here, I have something that will help.” He vanishes into his bedroom. I barely have time to wonder what he could be fetching for me when he reappears holding out a strip of black satin with a red carving of a rose affixed to it.

  “It is beautiful,” I breathe.

  “I gave it to your mother, long ago,” he says as he fastens the choker around my neck. It covers the bolts perfectly. I run my finger over the carving. I will cherish this; it is all I have left of my mother.

  Father takes my arm, leading me into the yard to greet our guest. A man drives a small cart that has a box with bars on the back into our yard. I startle as I recognize him.

  It is the same man I terrified the other day. I grip Father’s arm tighter. Given his reaction, I am more than a little wary, despite what Father says.

  He slides off the cart, waving to Father and tipping his wide-brimmed hat to me. “Allo, there, Barnabas. Is this your little secret weapon?” The man winks and something tightens deep in the pit of my stomach. He may be Father’s friend, but something about him does not sit well with me. Perhaps it is just leftover uneasiness from the first meeting.

  Father pats my arm. “She is indeed. My greatest creation yet.”

  The man approaches and peers at my face, his eyes widening. “Barnabas, you have outdone yourself. She looks completely different, except for those eyes.”

  “Yes, she is different enough that the city dwellers will not recognize her if they catch a glimpse.”

  I squeeze Father’s arm. Why should this man be surprised by how I look?

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his hazel eyes meeting mine. His face is dusty and lined, though he is younger than Father. He does not appear to remember me from our first meeting. I am less wild now than at our initial encounter. Perhaps he did not get as good a look at me as I feared.

  The man bows and pries my hand off Father’s arm to kiss it. I do my best not to pull away, but my claws unsheathe on instinct at the unfamiliar touch.

  “What is this?” he yells as he jumps back.

  Oh no, I have been bad again! I retract my claws and smile widely, hoping he will calm down as fast as the last time. Father places a hand on his shoulder with a firm grip. “It is all right, Darrell. There is nothing to fear. It was just a trick of the light.”

  The man’s expression slackens. Then he chuckles and wipes his brow. “Well, that right scared me. Sorry, young lady, I must not be getting enough sleep.” He adjusts his hat. “Where is our cargo?”

  “Kymera, go and fetch the girl, will you? Be sure she is asleep. Darrell will be taking her on a long journey.” Father gives me a meaningful look and I know what he wants me to do. I wish the girl did not have to sleep all the time, but Father has his reasons. It is for the best.

  I retreat to the tower, glancing over my shoulder to see the heads of Father and the man bent together in deep conversation. The man frowns in my direction more than once. I wonder if he really believes my claws were just a trick of the light.

  I climb the tower stairs, smiling at the knowledge of Father’s laboratory hiding in the basement. The girl still sleeps and I lift her easily. I take the second rose left on the bed and tuck it behind her ear. She will have many flowers and joys where she is going, but I hope she will keep it and remember me and Father and all that we have given her.

  When I return, Father and Darrell lean against the metal bars of the strange cart. Father beams at me as I near. Darrell smiles, but not in the same kind way as Father. Try as I might, I am not warming up to this man.

  Darrell opens a section of the bars and gestures for me to place the girl inside. A few pillows and some straw line the bottom. Not as nice as the room I prepared in the tower, but fewer frills are needed for traveling. I rest her body on the pillows, smoothing her hair and clothes.

  “Perfect,” Darrell says as he closes the door of bars and secures a sheet of canvas over them. “She’ll be right safe in there.” He turns to Father. “A pleasure doing business with you all, but I must be off. Those mountains won’t travel themselves.” With a tip of his hat, he jumps up to the seat atop the cart and whips his horse.

  “Come, Kymera, it is time to start dinner.” Father squeezes my shoulder and heads into the cottage.

  I watch the cart disappear into the thick hedge, then close my eyes and wait until the smell of the girl and the strange man dissipates.

  DAY THIRTEEN

  TONIGHT, THE MOON IS AN AIR DRAGON, CHASING ME HOME AS I RUN through the trees. In my books, dragons like to eat maidens. My latest rescue is secured around me by my cloak, sleeping soundly. She has pretty red locks that float like wisps in the night air. I am the hero who stole her out of the claws of the dragon. Yet I feel for them both. The dragon must be starving, but the girl surely does not wish to get eaten. I, a creature stronger than the humans, will lead the dragon-moon astray and into the path of other prey. Perhaps a nice fox would do.

  I dodge another moonbeam. Then I halt in my tra
cks near the opening to the hedge surrounding our home.

  What was that noise?

  I hold my breath and wait—

  Squawking.

  It sounds like our chickens. But why would they be awake at this time of night? They never rise before the sun. I flutter a few inches off the ground so I can pass through the hedge without making a sound. I am not sure why—they are only chickens, after all—but something inside my brain insists caution is the best idea.

  I pause at the edge of our yard, jaw dropping open.

  The girl I took last night trips and stumbles around the yard. The goat-footed chickens zoom after her, pecking at her feet and making the terrible noise I heard from the woods. Her brown hair whips around her shoulders and face as she dodges their beaks.

  How did she get out? I must stop her—if she leaves the safety of our home, the wizard could get her. I cannot let that happen.

  I untie my cloak and set my sleeping burden down softly on the grass.

  “Stop!” I yell as I take to the air and swoop toward the girl. When she sees me, her eyes go wide and she screams. The chickens swarm and overwhelm her. She falls to the ground, but the chickens do not stop pecking. I try to shoo them, but they are so frenzied, they even peck me. A bead of blood blooms on my hand. I stare at it for a moment, then realize specks of blood cover the screaming, crying girl before me. I throw my head back and howl, claws drawn and cat’s eyes out.

  The chickens flee.

  The girl raises her head from between her arms. Something in her sharp blue eyes makes my breath choke off. Her gaze is not like that of the other girls. It is . . . stronger. Fierce is the word that pops into my head.

  She scrambles to her feet and runs toward the hedge. “Stop!” I cry. “Stop! You cannot leave. It is for your safety. The wizard might capture you!”

  I am not certain, but I think the noise she makes in response is a laugh. I fly into her path, stopping her before she reaches the hedge.