Monstrous

by MarcyKate Connolly

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “The king and the council—they instructed the hospital staff to keep the disappearances secret. It’s bad enough that the demon wizard is sickening Bryre’s girls, but letting on that he steals them from the quarantine ward too would cause mass panic. The city’s full to the brim now because of the briar forcing people from their houses, so we don’t even have anywhere else to hide them. All our attempts to keep them safe have failed, and now the wizard has taken her, too.”

  My breath catches in my throat. It is the girl I saw him with the other night and saved from the wizard’s prison.

  “I’m sorry.” I want to say more, to tell Ren that I’m working to stop the wizard, that it’s why I come to the city every night, that I saved his friend, but I bite my tongue. Father would be furious.

  “All those girls, stolen.” Ren puts his head in his hands as he leans over the fountain. “I should have warned the people she was staying with, but I didn’t because of the council.” He stares into the swirling waters. “I was responsible for her. I failed her.”

  I squeeze his shoulder. I hate this wizard. I want to rip his heart out with my bare teeth just like I ripped out that rabbit’s throat when I was first training.

  “Maybe she’ll escape,” I say.

  “No one escapes.”

  The urge to tell him that is not true chokes me. I help them escape. That is why I live and breathe.

  “What does she look like?” It kills me that he misses her so much, but I must know for certain whether it is the girl I saved.

  “She has light hair and blue eyes. Almost as tall as me. She’s always smiling.” Clouds sweep over his face and I can guess at his thoughts. She’s probably not smiling much right now.

  “What is her name?”

  “Delia.”

  The blood drains from my face. D . . . Delia. Could this be the mysterious D who was moved about so much in Ren’s messages?

  “Who is she?” Jealousy stirs within me even though she is gone.

  “Someone important.” Ren’s face pinches. He straightens up and steps closer. My heart rises in my chest. “When you didn’t come to the fountain, I was so worried. I thought the wizard must have taken you, too,” he says.

  I hang my head. “I am sorry. I should not have abandoned you for so long. Can you forgive me?”

  Ren smiles, just a little, and it is like the dawn breaking. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m just happy you’re here now.” He takes my hand, sparking tingles down my fingers. “Can you stay a little while tonight? There’s some people I’d like you to meet.”

  I breathe out with relief, and my heart tries to follow by leaping into my throat. “Yes, I can.” More people? Who else would be up at this hour for Ren to introduce me to?

  He leads me into an alley headed opposite the direction I usually go. “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Home,” he says.

  Home. Something balloons in my chest at that word, and my inner vision fills with a red-roofed cottage, a tower, and a rose garden. What does home mean to Ren? My breath quickens; I will soon find out.

  Worry gnaws at me as we walk through the winding streets and I unconsciously clutch my cloak more tightly around me. I have never been inside a human’s house before, but we usually remove our cloaks when we enter our cottage. Will they think I am odd—or worse, suspect I’m in the wizard’s thrall—if I keep mine closed?

  I cannot risk removing it, nor should I risk going to Ren’s home. If my tail slips out, or a single feather molts, it could give me away. But it’s Ren, and refusing him anything is so very difficult. It has taken all my will not to tell him what I’m really doing in the city each night. Instead I wrap myself in lies even more tightly than my cloak. Tight enough to strangle.

  Yet what worries me the most is whether Ren’s family will like me. Will they think I am too dull looking for their son? Not normal enough? Not as good as Delia, for whom I’m sure they grieve, too? If they ever saw the true me, they would certainly not approve.

  When we arrive at a small stone house, Ren slows. It is a low building, with red shutters and flowers in a white box hanging off the front window. They are not roses, but still quite pretty. It seems small at first, but it extends back from the street and must have several rooms. The gray stone walls have a warm, welcoming feel in the moonlight, and I am pleased to see Ren’s home is not in shambles like many in Bryre. The vicious briar plant has not attacked his section of the city yet. A vegetable garden lies in one corner of the small yard, and flowered shrubbery lines the walk. Even here on the street the hint of cinnamon that always clings to Ren lingers.

  “This is your home?” I ask.

  He squeezes my hand and pulls me up the path to the front door. In mere moments, I’ll meet Ren’s family. My throat tightens and I mentally check my cloak fastenings, then flatten my wings closer to my back. My tail is so tightly wound around my thigh that I begin to lose feeling in that leg.

  He pushes the door open and a blast of warmth and that wonderful bread-baking smell wash over me like sunshine. Someone in this house loves to bake. Voices chatter by a fire and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lighted candles. A woman stirs a pot of soup over the fire and waves at Ren as he enters. Her smile falters when she sees me.

  My stomach drops into my feet. Could she see through my disguise so easily?

  “Ren! What’re you doing? Who is this?” she says.

  “Mother, this is Kym.” He points to me. “Kym, this is my mother.”

  She puts a hand on her hip and waggles the ladle at Ren. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. You know how dangerous it is! It’s bad enough you’re scampering around the city after curfew to begin with! Now you’re inviting guests over? After . . .” She swallows the end of the sentence like a rotten egg.

  “Laura, calm down,” a man’s voice says from the chair by the fire. He has his back to us and I cannot see his face, but his graying hair peeks over the top. It is not long like Father’s, but not close-cropped, either. For a second, I wonder if he’s Ren’s father, but then another man—younger than the first—steps out of the hallway and barrels toward Ren to give him a bear hug. They look so much alike, it is clear this is his true parent.

  “Yes, Laura,” Ren’s father says. “We’re all worried, but there’s no need to be rude to our guest.” He winks at me—just like Ren does—but with deep sadness etched in his face. This is where Ren gets his odd manners. “I’m Andrew,” he says. I curtsy back like I’ve read girls are supposed to do in my fairy tales.

  “See? She’s all politeness.”

  Laura folds her arms. “It isn’t safe for Bryre’s girls to be out after curfew. Not with the epidemic.”

  “I am not from Bryre,” I say, using the same excuse I gave Ren for my immunity to the wizard’s disease.

  “The wizard’s curse can’t hurt her, you see?” Ren says. I can’t help noticing his demeanor has altered since the moment we entered this house. Does this place cheer him or does he hide the grief I saw at the fountain for the sake of his family?

  Ren’s mother narrows her eyes, then harrumphs and returns to her soup.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” I say, still wondering who the gray-haired man is. Ren takes my hand again and leads me to a chair. I sit—as elegantly as I can manage—and watch in amusement as Ren throws a log on the fire. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. As I watch, the flames lick the wood. It’s burning it. We never use wood at home. The flames simply come and go when they should.

  “Kym.” Ren draws my attention away from the strangeness in the hearth. His eyes reflect the fire and my cheeks warm from that more than the fire itself. “This is Oliver. He’s a guest, too.”

  The older man tilts his head in my direction and holds out his hand to shake. I clasp it, unable to escape the feeling of familiarity.

  I look closer at his eyes. Shock ripples over me. This man, Oliver—he was in one of my vi
sions showing me the roses in the palace garden. He looks much older now, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

  So the images I see are not just appropriations of the present. How else can I explain this man’s face in my head? The once-me, she knew him. Of that I have no doubt.

  My stomach flips. That means the memory of her and Ren could be real, too.

  Oliver frowns, continuing to hold my hand, and squints—have I done something wrong? Father taught me little of etiquette. He never intended for me to mix with humans. All I know, I’ve gleaned from my books.

  He’d be furious if he knew where I was right now. The thought makes my palms sweaty and my hand slips out of the man’s grasp. Up close, I can see he is not so much older than Ren’s father after all; his hair has just gone gray earlier.

  “What did you say your name is?” Oliver’s face bears an odd expression.

  “Kymera. Kym.”

  He repeats my name strangely, as though it leaves a bitter taste. I wrack my brain, trying to understand how I offended him.

  “I don’t recognize that name.” He pauses and I hold my breath. “You remind me of someone. Your eyes, they’re similar. It’s—well, no matter. That someone is long gone. And you are here and have befriended our dear Ren.” He tousles Ren’s hair. A question stands on the tip of my tongue, ready to leap off into the conversation, but I bite it back.

  Father has been quite clear. No one can know who I am. Apparently, not even me.

  This man must have known me well if he can see the girl I was in my eyes. But perhaps it’s just a trick of the light and Oliver is thinking of someone else.

  Andrew joins us, passing around cheese and slices from a loaf of freshly baked bread. Ren tears into them and offers some to me. I take a bit of each, then hand them back.

  “Thank you,” I say, nibbling on the cheese. It is sharp and creamy, and the bread tastes exactly the way Ren always smells. Delicious. I can’t keep my eyes off him. He tries to be happy, but underneath runs a current of despair. That girl, Delia. They all knew her and mourn her. Fear hovers in the air of this house, I can smell it.

  I could allay all those fears. I could tell them Delia’s safe. That I took her and sent her to the beautiful shining city of Belladoma.

  But that would provoke questions, all of which would expose Father to the wizard’s wrath. I can’t betray him like that. Not even for Ren.

  “Kym is new to the area,” Ren says to Oliver. “She lives in a cottage outside the city.”

  Oliver raises an eyebrow at this. “Really? Where did you come from, my dear?”

  My breath hitches. I can’t answer this line of questioning either. I must change the topic and fast. “Nowhere of consequence,” I say. “Bryre is far finer than anywhere else I’ve been.”

  Ren’s father laughs. “Well, you must’ve been to some run-down, rancid places.”

  Oliver gives him a stern look and he stops laughing at once. “Bryre was once the height of excellence and beauty. But I fear we have fallen on hard times.”

  “Oh yes, Ren told me about the castle and the thorns.”

  Ren winces and sinks down in his chair. I realize too late I shouldn’t have mentioned that. His mother gasps and even his father frowns.

  “Did he now?” Oliver says. “Showing her the seedy underbelly of the city, are you, boy?”

  “Well, I, uh—”

  “No!” I object, “not at all. While it’s sad to see the palace in such a state, there’s something lovely about it. Ren has shown me many beautiful things around the city, too. Like the palace garden. I just adored that. Roses are my favorite, and the king’s are the best I’ve ever seen.”

  A light flashes in Oliver’s eyes, but it extinguishes just as quickly. “Yes, the roses were one of Bryre’s prized possessions. They’re still kept up for . . . memory’s sake.”

  This makes me more certain than ever that this man must be the palace gardener. “Whose memory?” I ask.

  Everyone goes quiet. Andrew looks embarrassed and Ren himself squirms in his armchair. I regret asking.

  Finally Oliver answers. “For the children who died at the hands of the wizard. My eldest daughter was one of them.”

  My body freezes from tail to nose. “I’m sorry, I should have guessed.”

  “It’s all right, child. You’re new to the city. One cannot expect you to know all our dirty secrets, even if Ren here is showing you the highlights.”

  Ren gazes into the fire, a sad, faraway look in his eyes. I know for a fact he thinks of Delia. I wonder if he looked that way about the once-me when she disappeared?

  “I hate that bloody wizard,” he says, hands balling into fists.

  “Why don’t we just find him and slit his throat?” My own hands clench over the arms of the chair as I watch Ren and Oliver’s faces change with surprise. My outburst is no doubt an unusual one for a human girl, but I don’t care. Between what the wizard did to Father and me, Batu and his clan, and now to poor, kind Oliver, I want to destroy him more than ever.

  Oliver’s face softens and he pats my taut fist. “I am afraid that is not possible. It is suicide to do such a thing.”

  My brow furrows. “What do you mean? When it comes down to it, the wizard is just a man, isn’t he? Albeit a powerful one.”

  Ren’s eyes widen. “You really don’t know?”

  I stiffen my back. I don’t wish to seem naive and ignorant in front of Ren, least of all in front of his family. But then he squeezes my other hand and I melt. He has such a strange hold on my emotions.

  Oliver gives Ren a stern look. “It’s all right. Not every city is as haunted as we are. Yes, the wizard is a man. And yes, he would die from a knife to the throat like any other. But wizards aren’t feared and revered just because they can work spells. The magic lives inside them, it’s a part of them. No wizard has ever been buried. When they die, the magic leaves, burning them up in the process.”

  “Why would that stop someone from killing him?”

  “The person who kills the wizard would be incinerated, too.”

  My limbs go numb. Incinerated? Father never mentioned that. There must be some mistake.

  “What if we shoot him with a longbow? Surely magic could not reach that far.”

  Oliver shakes his head. “Magic is canny. It has life and intelligence of its own. There’s no hiding from it. That’s why the wizard’s cursed disease only attacks girls of this city and ignores you, along with our men and boys. Magic burns up the dead wizard’s body because it seeks a new host. It will always choose the person who killed its master. But only a wizard could withstand an influx of magic like that. Anyone else would be overcome and perish in flames.”

  I shudder. “Only another wizard could kill ours? No one else?”

  “Not anyone who wants to live to see another day. But yes, another wizard would stand a chance. Or some other magical creature strong enough to overpower him. A dragon, maybe. A nice griffin would do, but they haven’t been seen near Bryre for decades. Unfortunately, good wizards, griffins, and dragons are all in short supply.” Oliver leans back into his chair. His gray hair slips over his forehead. In some ways, Oliver reminds me of Father. Does Father know about this tricky business of how to kill a wizard? He knows all about the origin of wizards and dragons, so he should. But what if he doesn’t and he tries to kill the evil man himself? I don’t want my beloved father to die so horribly. Did he omit this detail so I would not try to stop him?

  I try, just for a moment, to imagine what that would feel like. All that heat melting me into nothing at all.

  Despite the horror that thought inspires, there is a way around it—Batu. I must redouble my efforts to convince him to help. Father and I may not be able to kill the wizard after all, but Batu can.

  “Even a good wizard, if such a thing existed, would demand too high a price,” Ren says, snorting with derision. “That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?” I am suddenly cu
rious. Father has told me nothing of this part.

  Oliver shakes his head. “Ren, she doesn’t need to know every detail . . .”

  “We can trust her,” he says. Heat lights up my face. “I trust her. Tell her the story.”

  “Ah, to be young again.” Oliver fondly ruffles Ren’s hair. “All right. I’ll give her the condensed version. Not long ago, the king of Bryre was in a fix. Another king from a distant city was rumored to be marching on Bryre, set to take it over by force. We are a peaceful people. War is not in our blood. We have guards, but they would be no match for an entire army of trained soldiers and mercenaries.”

  “I wish I’d been old enough, I would have fought them,” Ren says.

  “I’m sure you would’ve fought well,” Oliver says, “But it never came to blows. A man appeared at the palace gates one morning, claiming he could make the warmongers go away forever. The king and queen were desperate. The man said he’d only name his price when he was successful. It sounded fair to them at the time. As they discovered, the man was a wizard and he put warding charms in place all over the city. No person intending to kill or harm our citizens could enter. To this day, the spells hold.”

  “How does the wizard operate in the city? How does he steal the girls?”

  Oliver spreads his palms out. “I wish I knew. All we have are guesses. Either he has spies here in Bryre or the charms don’t keep him out, since he made them. Magic is as tricky and fickle as the wizards who wield it.”

  Ren scoffs. “Now that’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

  “What happened next?” I ask.

  “Once the rival king discovered an invisible wall of magic blocked his path into the city and could find no chink in Bryre’s armor, his army retreated. The king and his army made a second attempt six years later, but the spell was still too strong. We haven’t heard from them since.”