The Grotesques

by Tia Reed

  At the end of it all, Rob shook his head. At his side his hands unfolded and turned out. “Where in all this is there anything about people turning into grotesques?”

  “I don’t know but the dragon head was the first gargoyle, don’t you see. It was the beginning for Romain. If Genord’s found or created or, oh I don’t know what, a dragon, maybe this is the only way Romain can fight him.”

  Rob looked around at the strengthening troops. “No one’s going to believe any of this.”

  Ella felt her whole body tense. “Let’s just assume for the minute that the girls are those grotesques. Those men will be murdering the victims they’re supposed to find. You have to call off the raid.”

  “It’s out of my hands. It’s not only the Commissioner who’s demanding action, but the public too. So far nobody has seen what we’ve seen, not the residents and not the patrols. We need something more convincing than hearsay and the testimony of a backward mason and drug dealer.”

  “The DNA evidence. You said yourself it doesn’t lie.”

  “Look, Ella, at this stage I’m willing to believe just about anything you tell me. I just don’t know how to prevent them from shooting. Getting in the way will simply land the pair of us in custody.”

  “Tomorrow the Informer is going to plaster everything I know all over its front page.”

  Rob looked impressed. “That just might do it.” He gripped her arm before jogging over to Roan and a number of other command personnel gathering by the water. The veterinarian was still there, rummaging among the rocks. Ella hoped she found spoor or tracks, anything that would strengthen their argument. Rob began talking fast, his wild hand gestures giving more away than the impassive faces of his listeners. Inspector Roan voiced some query Ella couldn’t hear. Rob nodded in her direction. She stood tall and met the stares on the humourless faces.

  A dour man in a black coat approached her. “I’m ordering you to retract the story.”

  “It’s already at the print centre, and even if it wasn’t, there’s a statute called freedom of press.”

  “I can have you detained. Indefinitely.”

  “By all means go ahead. It will lend a great deal of credibility to my story. The public will want to know why the government considers a reporter from a trashy tabloid a threat.” She was, she thought, surprised, sounding like her old self. Feeling like it, even.

  “Be careful, Ms Jerome. It might not be a bluff you are calling.” He executed a precise turn and rejoined the group for more discussion. When it broke up, Rob returned.

  “Osborne there,” Rob said, indicating her adversary, “is giving orders to shoot the dragon to kill and just so you know, I didn’t call it a dragon. Ms Farringer will use sedatives on the grotesques but if they outnumber her darts or attack, the soldiers will open fire.” Rob pulled her toward the road, away from the approaching soldiers. “Is there any way we can warn them?”

  “Why do you think I came back, Rob? They know. Romain knows. But if the dragon attacks, I think they’ll show in spite of this circus.” Or because of it, she thought with nothing approaching the wry amusement it warranted.

  Across the road, Ella had to sit on the bench. Whatever magic Romain had performed, she had obviously not regained her full strength because the short walk combined with the excitement had left her drained. “What about Romain? He’s likely to charge into the midst of all this if he thinks his grotesques are under attack.”

  “The church is locked. We’ll see him if he comes out.” Which was true enough. The mason’s build precluded him from exiting via the window.

  Around them, men were taking up defensive positions, marking their aim, and training spotlights on the church roof and canal. Rob looked less than pleased as he pointed out snipers hidden between the sheoaks. Given the number of people around, it was preternaturally quiet.

  “The grotesques have nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.” She shivered as the last patch of indigo cloud dulled. Rob gave her his jacket, and they walked toward the sheoaks, ducking under the cordon that only just restrained the overenthusiastic press and a gang of tough men with Doer’s brutal manner about them. The angle afforded them a better view of the roof. She held her breath as she strained to detect the slightest movement but the grotesques remained statues.

  Then they heard it: the gentle lapping of water cascading to a swoosh.

  “Wait for it,” Rob murmured as a hump broke the surface. Light erupted from a dozen portable spotlights. Complete hush descended on the area. The creature submerged.

  At Osborne’s snapped orders, a crane truck, blinkers flashing and beeping, backed alongside the short canal to the river proper.

  “They can’t be serious,” she said as personnel hitched a diving cage to the crane while two divers suited up.

  “It’s the safest way to find out what’s down there.”

  They watched the divers, equipped with lights and underwater camera, climb inside. The crane extended over the water and lowered the cage. The wait seemed interminable. At least the focus was off the grotesques.

  “Rob.” Her hand caught his arm as she pointed to the roof. An unmistakable figure was leaning over the wall. Somehow Genord was attacking the divers because the men in charge of the crane were yelling, the cage was rising, and water was sloshing against the rocky banks. The light operators swung their beams onto the cage. She thought she would be sick. One diver was slumped against the side, his face frozen in a terrified grimace. The other was a bloody mess. One leg was missing, the flesh torn ragged. Ella was sure he was dead.

  “He’s doing this.”

  “Genord is on the roof, Ella.” And he was, visible in the scattered light with hands flat on the wall.

  “‘Sacrifice’ means he has a sick, twisted purpose to all this.”

  “I don’t see . . .”

  She caught movement in the corner of her eye and swallowed. The leonine grotesque was stalking along the rooftop wall. Before she could point it out, rushing water drew her eye back to the canal. A beast was rising from the depths, the blue dragon head she had seen outside her bedroom window atop a wooden body. It lurched onto the grass, its stiff joints moving without the whirl or hum of mechanics. Heaven help the men running to ring it. The sparking blue light inside brought back all the horror of the crypt. Above it, the diver in the cage was gripping the bars and yelling for help. The moment the light within the dragon faded, his screams cut off, and he collapsed.

  “Genord’s killing him.”

  A roar preceded the grotesque’s leap. It landed atop Genord and leapt off, to somersault and turn with a growl that distracted the caretaker long enough for the diver to heave great breaths.

  “You’re going to have a hard time persuading anyone he’s anything other than a victim.”

  “Romain’s creatures. I told you.” It was no more than a whisper on her tremulous breath.

  Cecily was batting at Genord and Ella knew only too well what the fiend could do when threatened. She thought a paw connected with his chest but he ducked below the wall. Cecily pounced and immediately leaped away with a screech. “He hurt her.” At the other end of the wall the beaked grotesque took flight. Genord righted himself, clutching the ledge as though he sported a grievous injury. He lashed out as Caroline flapped around his head. The grotesque went flying into the belfry but Cecily swooped down in her place.

  “Genord has some kind of supernatural power that lets him stun or kill. He used it on me. He implied he liked his victims to suffer but I think there’s more to it than that. And we’re standing here giving him all the sacrifices he needs.” She was sounding hysterical in her need for Rob to understand.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” Rob said, herding her toward Formby Street. She looked back. The dragon was plodding into the midst of the men. Its ghostly head turned toward the wall of the church. Ella drew Rob’s attention with a touch on his arm. She pointed to the veterinarian creeping along the wall. Lyn Farringer got down on one knee unde
r an arched window and took aim with her dart gun. They both yelled at her to get away but their words were drowned by the crane as it lowered the surviving diver and his mutilated mate.

  With Rob behind her, Ella pressed herself against the wall and sidled down. “You’re risking your life. You’ve got to get out of here,” she said.

  “Too many have died.” A lock of hair had detached itself from the veterinarian’s low ponytail. The way it fell across the smudge on her cheek made her look like a seasoned fighter. Ella had to remind herself Lyn was as inexperienced in combat as she was.

  “This is the military’s scene,” Rob said.

  Lyn shook her head. “I have to try.”

  “It’s wood,” Ella said. Wood and spirit.

  Lyn looked up. Shadows flitted across the wall. “They’re not.”

  “They’re not what’s killing the girls. They’re here to help. You’ve got to trust me on that.”

  Off to one side, the diver was babbling to Osborne. The commander barked an order. A soldier ran up with a jerry can and sloshed liquid onto the wooden dragon. It swung round and stomped a taloned foot on its assailant. Blood oozed from the mouth of the crushed body. A volley of shots rang out. The bullet-ridden dragon refused to fall.

  “What’s that? On its leg.” Ella pointed at a patch of shimmering sapphire on its left fore. It looked like real scales. The ripple of muscle beneath them was no wooden approximation of a dragon. The veterinarian hitched up the gun. Her hands were trembling. Her target was small; her shot was going to be off. “It looks heavier than an elephant. You got enough drug?” Ella asked. The veterinarian’s white face as she watched the serpentine dragon sway gave Ella the answer. “Will the dart even penetrate?”

  “I don’t know. You should leave.” Lyn wasn’t looking at them.

  Rob slid in beside her, his gun out and pointed up. “Get going. Lyn, I’ll cover you. You’ve got one shot, then you go too. And for God’s sake don’t miss.”

  Ella stepped back. Lyn shot. The dart hit the edge of the patch but bounced right off the scales. The dragon turned, head and body working as one beast. Lyn reloaded, pointed higher and shot. The dart sailed right through the ghostly head and lodged in the wooden neck. Model or beast, it drew the dragon their way. The three of them edged back as a soldier ran forward and threw lighted matches. The dragon’s tail crashed against the water, sending up spray and dousing the fragile flames before they took hold. The soldier collapsed, his chest heaving for breath. Directly above, Genord looked down on the man. With a furious cry that cut across the night, Cecily dropped from the ledge and circled the dragon.

  No!” Ella called. “Get back!” Between the bullets and the dragon, the grotesques didn’t stand a chance.

  A horned grotesque pummelled into Genord. The caretaker staggered but kept his feet. Ella’s already strained heart skipped a beat as blue light flashed and the grotesque tumbled over the wall. Its leathery hand snagged the edge, breaking the fall. One leathery wing drooped as it stared down at her.

  Ella ran for the church door. She wanted to get to the roof and heave Adam to safety before Genord tore him to pieces. Her rattles suddenly unlatched the door. It creaked open. As she lifted one foot across the threshold, Adam plopped down beside her and with frantic, uncontrolled beats of his torn wings, planted himself in the doorway. Ella felt like she had woken from a dream. She could not believe she had been about to re-enter Genord’s lair. Voluntarily.

  “Stay safe,” she said. He inclined his head in a way that suggested he understood, then jumped up and flew to Cecily with laboured flaps of his bat-like wings. Ella rounded the corner to watch and saw the lizard-like grotesque scurrying down the wall. It launched itself onto the dragon’s foot and dug dagger-sharp fangs into the sapphire scales. The dragon kicked out, tossing Bekka against the church wall, but it was retreating under the assault of the grotesques as they tried to keep its lumbering bulk between them and the pointed guns.

  On the roof the beaked Caroline grotesque continued to assail Genord. Then Cecily screamed. Her back arched, and she dropped to the ground. Adam growled, and Ella sensed real fear from his quivering talons. Ella raced over, plucked a dart from the grotesque’s haunches, and hurled it toward the canal, yelling at Lyn to stop. The veterinarian was already fumbling with another dart. Rob was working his way along the wall, gun pointed up. He pulled the vet behind him as she was about to take aim again.

  Ella barely registered their quick exchange of words as she tried to shake the drowsy Cecily awake. The girl’s breathing, at least, seemed regular, and beneath her eyelids her eyes moved with the rapid abandon of a vivid dream. Rob reached her and stood guard. The officials were so occupied with trying to contain the dragon before it disappeared into the river that nobody had noticed the grotesques slinking back to the roof, or that Romain was loping toward them, his wooden cross slung from his neck. The mason fell beside Cecily and cradled her head in his hands. His mouth open, he tried to speak, but only emitted a strangled sob.

  “She’s sleeping. She’ll be all right,” Ella said, praying it were true. The veterinarian was not in sight to check if an antidote were available.

  “Help me,” Rob said, tucking an arm beneath Cecily’s neck.

  Romain looked up at that. He had Cecily cradled in his arms before Ella and Rob could heave. Her wings draped around her, she looked incredibly vulnerable for a creature supposed to offer protection. They hurried toward the road, Rob bringing up the rear. He held his gun at the ready. Too bad they all knew how ineffectual it was.

  Just past the church, a utility truck was backing up, a large steel cage on its tray. Osborne, the military man who had conferred with Rob earlier, stepped around the back and accosted them, a no-nonsense set to his jaw.

  “At least we’ve captured one of those beasts,” he said. “Put it in the cage. We’ll deal with it from here.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  29th October. Night.

  ELLA LATCHED ONTO Rob. Matt Hayes’s video must have planted farfetched ideas in her head because whatever assurances the military might give, she was sure they intended to subject Cecily to a barrage of invasive tests. “We can’t let them take her.”

  Shaking free of her, Rob pointed his gun. “This is Cecily Williams, the first girl who disappeared in the area. She’s in a position to tell us where the other missing girls are.”

  “And the dragon is one of the girls from Hanging Rock,” the humourless official said as two armed soldiers flanked him.

  “With an imagination like that, you should consider a job at the Informer,” Ella said, positioning herself directly in front of Romain and Cecily.

  “I shall leave the tall tales to reporters of your outstanding calibre.”

  “Is it more implausible than a dragon in twenty-first century Adelaide?”

  “I’ve seen nothing beyond pyrotechnics and expert special effects. Perhaps you should do your research. It took nothing more than a split tyre to fool the world into believing in the Bowness Monster.”

  “How many more deaths do you need to convince you this is real?” Rob asked.

  “If this thing is a girl, we’ll find out. Now, gentlemen, load it into the truck.” The soldiers marched forward. Eyeing the mean-looking rifles, Ella questioned the wisdom of her position.

  “You don’t have the full details,” Rob said, glancing at Romain and the grotesque.

  “I’m happy to fill you in. You’ll have the facts before the paper is even off the press,” Ella added.

  “I’m afraid this situation is non-negotiable. After hearing of tonight’s events, the Premier has authorised the military to take whatever action necessary to solve this problem. That does not include wasting time on a chat.”

  Okay, she was cowed. A military man with access to the Premier had to be a formidable behind-the-scenes authority. Possibly even The Authority. No way was he going to listen to a discredited reporter. She tensed as the soldiers brushed past.

 
“Bats up,” Romain said, knocking his broad shoulder into the leanest of them. Osborne’s lip hitched in disgust. The soldier twitched. Ella peeked skyward. A horned grotesque was leaping off the roof. She took the hint, fished out her mobile, and tossed it up with a quick trigger-pressing motion. There was every chance the elected Premier would turn avid ears to a reporter’s opinion. Even a discredited one. Adam swooped and caught the phone as Osborne drew a pistol from his holster.

  “Soldier!”

  “Sir?” A fresh-faced youth tried to divide his attention between Osborne and the dart he was pulling from the lean soldier’s behind. A moment later he jerked and twisted, feeling for the projectile in his own rear end. Osborne spun, redirecting his aim from the grotesque to the veterinarian. Lyn Faringer dropped the dart gun, raised her hands, and walked slowly their way. Ella relaxed as Adam flapped to the safety of the roof and started clicking photos.

  “I meant to hit the creature. The soldiers moved after I pressed the trigger.”

  “I consider this an act of terrorism.”

  “Sir.” Both soldiers were looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  “The antidote.”

  Lyn had her arms tightly crossed beneath her bust. She glanced at the roof, clearly uncomfortable with what she had just done. “I swapped to ketamine. They’ll be out for a couple of hours in about three minutes. No lasting damage.”

  “We’re moving,” Rob said. “Ms Faringer?”

  “Stay right where you are.”

  “How do you think the Premier would react to photographic evidence of you shooting civilians on prime time news?” Ella asked, stepping back. She waggled a finger at the roof. The horned grotesque gave a horrendous smile, waved, and held up the camera for more shots.

  Freshface hitched up his rifle and fired. The bullet clinked low on the wall. Still, Ella was relieved Adam had the good sense to duck.

  “His popularity is likely to soar when we report terrorists were assassinated.”

  “That label would never stand up to public enquiry.” She hoped. Discredited journalist. Terrorist. What was next, bloodsucking shapeshifter? “The press would have a field day once they caught wind.” Oh, yes. Her former colleagues would hang her out to dry if they thought she was a terrorist.