The Grotesques

by Tia Reed

  Where is he? Ella asked. The clang of the belfry door meant he was her last hope.

  May as well get Romain to turn Adam back. Ella will be more use to us, Bekka said.

  But not to Romain. Cecily sounded glum.

  She’s right, Caroline said. We have to get Romain back here. Ella’s the only one with the connections to do it.

  Maybe she could promise to return.

  Oh yeah, she’d promise all right, with no qualms about breaking it.

  Yeah, right, Bekka said as if the younger woman knew her mind. Would you ever agree to be confined in these disgusting bodies?

  What if she wakes him? Cecily said.

  What? Bekka said.

  He likes her. I can tell. Romain, if Ella can reach Adam will you return her?

  Adam liked her? That was good to know.

  The mason seemed thoughtful. Try, he said at last.

  I’ll distract the cops, you get back up here, Romain, Bekka said. The giant gecko creature slunk off the ledge and crawled in front of Ella.

  It moved.

  The gecko gave a languid wink with one black eye. No one was watching.

  You mean when they see us, we turn to stone?

  When they watch we can’t turn, Caroline said. From flesh to stone or stone to flesh.

  The gecko slunk over the wall. Ella strained.

  You’re trying too hard, Cecily said. You’re acting like you need to break a barrier. Relax, believe you are flesh, wait for your body to warm, and lift your arm. The stone blurred and softened. A furred creature sat in its place, shook its head, and held up a paw. See?

  It’s not my arm. Caroline sighed. Ella’s stomach fluttered. What if they gave up on her? Romain did something before I could move.

  He just helped you along.

  Okay, so she knew she was alive. And she had walked. Because she had believed she was still herself. So she just had to think the drug was wearing off and will herself to get up. She felt stone crumble within her veins, and blood trickle from the centre of her body until her skin felt the tickle of the night breeze. Her joints unlocked and she bent a creaky knee out. She stepped out and fell off the ledge beneath a tangle of wings. She flicked them back, picked herself up, and peered over the wall. The giant gecko was stuck to the side. Her appearance sent it scurrying down. It poked its head through the window outside Romain’s workroom and hissed. Men called out. Police climbed out the window. Bekka leaped off the wall, bounded right, then onto stained glass before zigzagging across the church and around the bell tower. Right on cue, the police gave chase. Chocolate frogs, one fired a gun.

  “There’s another one,” one called, pointing to her. She waved her arms to attract his attention. Next thing she knew his gun was drawn. Ella ducked as he fired.

  Be careful! Caroline said. You’re going to bring them back up here.

  They’re shooting at me.

  Um, you don’t exactly look like yourself, Cecily said. Adam is on the other side. Next to Igulum.

  Ella hauled herself over the inner ledge, across the roof and back over the low wall. Igulum creaked into life and pitched himself off the roof. The laboured beat of his wings betrayed his age. Down below, the police started shouting again.

  Wait. Where are you going?

  You revealed yourself. He’s acting as a decoy. We can’t have them come up here, Caroline said.

  She stumbled past silent grotesques until she came to a statue with blunt horns. It was not unlike one she had seen in pictures of Notre Dame Church.

  Ella, you have to get him to respond.

  She waved a leathery hand in front of his face. He was stone. She cupped his face in her hand. Adam? She thought she heard a dim grunt in reply. Adam, is that you? Any time now the candid camera people were going to jump out and everyone was going to laugh at the way she was talking to a statue.

  The door to the roof banged open. Irregular footsteps thudded down. She stopped making a fool of herself and waited for Romain to stop next to her so she could say the most ridiculous thing of all: Okay, Romain, turn me back, turn him back, turn us all back.

  Romain hugged his wicked pot of sludge and used his index finger to scratch his crown. “Adam like Ella.”

  Yes, and Ella likes Adam, so could you do something and make him flesh.

  Why don’t you give him a kiss? Cecily said.

  What? Now she sounded like Bekka.

  It worked for Snow White and Sleeping Beauty.

  Oh, please, Bekka said as she stole back over the wall.

  To hell with it, she thought. If it got them anywhere closer to reality, she would give him a thousand kisses. She climbed on the wall, leaned over, and kissed the thick stone lips.

  El . . . la.

  Adam? He sounded so very faint. It’s okay, you’re safe. Romain put his hand on Adam’s head. You’re going to feel warm in a minute. Follow my voice and you’ll wake up. Cecily’s here, and the other missing girls. She prattled on as the stone melted into wrinkled skin. She took his hand. Her smile was so wide she thought her face would split. Adam blinked, pulled his hand away, and scuttled back. One ungainly leg slipped off the wall and he tumbled. The screech that came out of his mouth was pure terror.

  Adam, it’s me. It’s Ella.

  Keep. A. Way.

  I’m in a costume. Romain dressed me in a costume. You recognise my voice, don’t you? You too. See? She eased her hand forward and draped one of his wings across his body.

  Oh boy. Bekka rolled her sleepy eyes to the stars. Like that’s going to help him come to grips.

  It’s a start, Caroline said.

  Ce-ci-ly. You said Cecily’s here. He was scratching at his skin. She pushed his hand away. His nail was laced with blood.

  No. They’re glued on. Your cousin is over there. She helped him scale the low wall, glad he went first and didn’t see the inelegant way she clambered over.

  Cecily, she said, placing a hand on the lion chest. It was stone.

  There’s police down there. I can’t change.

  Someone pounded on the door. She glanced over to see Romain had bolted it from the outside.

  “Quick.” Romain’s nervous glances left Ella jittery.

  Adam gripped her shoulder. His face assumed the hard, introverted look she had come to recognise so well. Do you trust him?

  I . . . yes.

  I have to get her back.

  I know. This . . . I think it’s the way. Will you trust him?

  I’ll trust you.

  They looked at each other for a long moment. Romain ambled between them, pushing them apart.

  “Adam stone.”

  Not till I know Ella’s safe.

  The tip of an axe cleaved through the door.

  “No time. Stone. Now.”

  You’re out of luck because I have no idea how. He folded his arms.

  Uh oh, Cecily said.

  Romain lurched in front of them, obscuring them from the suspicious gaze of the police in the car park.

  You need to get back before they shoot.

  Shoot?

  Ella scrambled back over the inner wall, pulling Adam with her. The blade of the axe hacked further through the door. Romain stepped over the ledge and settled his calloused hand on Adam. She took a deep breath as he stilled. In the wrong position. Facing the wrong way. The axe cleaved all the way through. Genord’s arm reached through and searched for the bolt. Romain transferred his hand to her head.

  “Still. Stone.”

  You said you’d turn me back. She hated the desperation in her voice.

  “Stone first.” She willed herself to stillness. Felt the icy magic seep back into her veins. Could no longer move. Saw Adam shocked to immobility though he remained flesh and blood. Heard the bolt scrape out of the latch. And Romain’s heavenly chant. It coursed cold through her veins, tearing muscle from bone, remoulding her with a pain reminiscent of the massage she had indulged in on a Thai holiday among the smells of frying oil, smoking tuk-tuks, and a bright
pot of geraniums.

  AT FIRST LIGHT Romain dug a grave between Brother Pierre’s favourite red and pink geraniums and laid his shrouded guardian to rest. With his idle hands beckoning intolerable grief, he collected deadwood. Prayers and memory sustained him while he fashioned a cross and angel to mark the grave. All the while, Genord came and went, not a word, not even a callous smile. Romain paid him no heed, watching instead a sparrow pecking the fresh dug earth.

  When the sun started its descent, Romain entered the church. His legs weakened as he took in the bloodied bodies of squirrels, birds, and hares littering the floor. He reached for a pew to steady himself, wishing for the first time in his life that he did not share blood with Genord.

  The forest yielded wood to tack into a cross on the door. He lost himself in despair as he carved a cross into each quadrant and others into the resultant squares. He carved until the door was covered in the symbol and his hands ached. He carved to the warble of the sparrow which swooped inside and perched on the chalice. Then he set to work on the door to the hut.

  When golden afternoon shone upon his work, he returned to the church. The stone dog was lying against the left wall. One ear was chipped, the tip crumbled across the flagstones. Romain cradled it as he knelt before the cross. No life pulsed within its gravel though he turned its face to the light streaming through the window. He had killed it as sure as Genord had murdered the other beasts. The sparrow chirped a commiseration before it dunked its head in the wine. The lifeblood Brother Romain had called him. As he had called the consecrated wine. Romain gathered the dust of the earth, sprinkled it in the chalice, and chanted his prayers until the cross shone with the light of God. Until sundown he sang, when Genord returned, humming a funerary dirge. His brother’s footsteps stopped dead outside the church. The corpse of a squirrel thumped the window. Romain faltered at his prayers for Brother Pierre.

  When footsteps marched away, he made the sign of the cross, collected chalice and crucifix, and rose to confront his brother one last time.

  Genord was lurking beneath the heavy branches of a ponderous oak. “You will regret this,” he said, throwing a dead falcon at Romain’s feet. Romain refused to look at it. He would collect it later, another burial for another death. He should have known his indifference would goad his twin. Belting the strains of his ominous dirge, Genord lifted a poor rabbit by the ears.

  Evil stirred, brooding and chill. Romain countered with a melodious chant. It rose on the breeze, gusting through the trees and swirling the clouds as the cross caught the dying rays of the sun. It called to God, and it called to the earth elementals, blending old magic and new into a formidable protection even Genord could not shatter. When light burst from the cross, Romain dipped his hand in the chalice and flicked the elixir upon the hare. He scooped handfuls and swept them over the sable fur. Its whiskers stopped waggling, its coat matted to brittle grey, and there in Genord’s hand was a perfect stone replica of the animal.

  Genord dropped it. Its tail cracked. He stared but no spirit emerged.

  “It lives,” Romain said. He tucked the cross into the crook of his arm, picked up the hare, and turned his back on Genord. He placed his precious artefacts on the back pew of the church and stood door in hand.

  “You’ve changed, Romain.” Genord was a menacing silhouette beneath the trees. “Where is my fun-loving little brother? Where is the boy who is so eager to please?”

  “You killed him,” Romain said, and closed the door.

  It was an effort to scrape the grit from between the stones in the wall until his elixir was thick enough for him to mould a new tail on the hare but he smiled in sweet sadness when it was done, for he could sense the wild mind, its raw relief and timid thanks. He touched the tip of the cross to its nose and chanted. Brother Pierre would have condemned his words, the old mixed with the new. Even so, the stone heated in the light of the cross and the surface cracked into a thousand hairs. In the dark magic of the elements, a hare shivered to life.

  Romain could have asked for no greater comfort than its warmth as it nestled in his arms.

  ELLA TUMBLED AT Romain’s feet, her teeth chattering, her eyes resting on her trembling human hands. Adam gathered her to him. At last, this wicked hallucination seemed to be taking a turn for the better. She tilted her head. And gulped. She was enclosed in the arms of the horned grotesque. The very alive horned grotesque. So much for bad dreams. She needed to get a grip, though, because the door clanged. Genord, one arm thrust to the side, stood at the top of the steps. She pulled herself out of Adam’s embrace and got to her feet. The psychopath’s eyes narrowed as he took in their predicament. Then he smiled.

  “You can’t save them both, brother mine. Which one will you choose, I wonder?”

  Romain slapped a hand on Adam. “Still, or die.”

  “I thought so,” Genord said stepping down. “You are predictable, brother dear. I am so glad. I did promise Miss Jerome a gruesome end. Come, my dear. You will be the fifth.”

  Ella bolted for the far end of the roof, threw herself over the inner ledge, and huddled against it. Footsteps paced toward her. She crawled along the channel, wincing at the soft scrape of her body over the stone.

  “You can’t hide forever.”

  Genord stepped onto the inner ledge. Below, a car engine started. Ella leapt for the outer ledge. “Help!” she called, leaning way over to make herself visible. Genord stepped down. For a dizzying moment, he looked like the vindictive boy in Brother Pierre’s church. She sidled to her right, throwing a beseeching glance at Romain. The mason squeaked and removed his hand from a melding blur of leather and stone. She jerked her head around, unsure if the no watching rule applied to someone who had been a grotesque. Genord grinned. She leaned over the wall and screamed at a policeman opening a car door.

  “No!” Romain’s heavy frame slapped against the inner stone wall. Genord’s lithe body paced closer.

  “HELP!”

  Blue light flashed. A force clapped her in the middle of her back. It toppled her onto the ledge. Romain panted closer. She struggled to tilt her weight back. She wanted to cower behind the mason’s bulk, feel his cold sludge, become stone if it meant she could live. Her feet found the roof. She grazed a knee as she started to turn. The brothers were almost upon her. Another blow caught her between the shoulders. She tumbled over the edge head first. Dropped, screamed, hit her head on the wall, and jerked to a halt.

  A sturdy hand gripped her ankle. Down in the carpark, police were causing a commotion as they called for assistance and ran to the huge gothic doors.

  “Help.” Her whimper would not alert a mouse but she had nothing left to fight with. She reached for the wall, but there was nothing to grab onto. Nothing save that ill-placed dragon head gargoyle over the doors, far below.

  “Hold on!” a voice cried.

  The hand slipped, its palm sliding onto her heel. Ella twisted her head. Romain gaped down at her, terror widening his eyes.

  “Adam,” she whispered. “Oh, Adam.”

  “Adam safe.” But Romain turned his head. Blue light flickered behind him. A shudder passed through his body. Ella’s foot slipped a little further from his grasp. She reached down but the gargoyle was well beyond her reach, a menacing stone on which she would crack her head if Romain let go.

  “Jump,” a perverted heckler called.

  “No,” she wailed. But the gullible mason swung her away from the gargoyle and let go. She twisted as she plummeted. Expected a burst of agony as she splattered onto the ground. Instead, landed on her back on a blanket stretched between ten men. They lowered her to the ground, offering hands to help her up. Rob was pushing his way through. Flinging her arms around him, she pressed a cheek into his chest. Solid, dependable Rob.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “He tried to kill me.”

  Rob turned to the milling officers. “Get that mason down here. Now.” He frowned at her. “Where were you? We’ve been searching for hours.”
Irritable, demanding Rob.

  She stared at him. “I don’t know, but—”

  He turned away to supervise the arrest before she could correct his assumption about who she had been accusing.

  “I need to get back to the roof,” she told the nearest policeman. She had to check if Adam had survived. The officer draped a blanket over her shoulder and led her to a car but when Romain loped through the front doors, she pulled away.

  “Adam safe,” the mason said. She supposed it would do no good to convince the police back onto the roof. She wanted to travel with the mason to find out for sure, but his escort wouldn’t let him dally, and the officer was guiding her to a different vehicle. She sighed. Whether it was from relief or frustration she could not say. At least they were giving her time to concoct a story before what was sure to be a riveting interrogation.

  Chapter Twenty

  29th October. Very Early Morning.

  BRODIE RAISED HIS beer glass, slopping froth into the chick’s cleavage as he leaned close. She’d made a real effort to doll up tonight, with lipstick and that ass-hugging skirt. He wanted to score but she wasn’t relaxing, and now she slid off the stool before he could grope her breasts. He leered as she staggered out the front door. Wicked how she let a bat in. He swiped it while he checked out the rest of the booty in the rowdy pub. Just his luck beer sloshed onto counter, floor, and jacket. Wouldn’t be a worthwhile chick that wanted him now, ’specially if the bat kept hanging round. Broads didn’t dig cool stuff like that. He flicked a sodden paper to the floor. Could have sworn that bat had dropped it.

  “It’s got your name on it, man,” his mate Ace said, bending to retrieve it.

  “I’d have bailed that chick up if that thing hadn’t distracted me. Where’d it go, anyhow?”

  Ace unrolled the paper and turned it over. “Who cares? She wasn’t interested.”

  “So what?” Brodie swilled the remainder of his beer.

  “Here, read it.” Ace passed the folded paper across. It had curled back up.

  Brodie grunted and opened it, expecting a note from his father. It wasn’t. The handwriting was too toffy.