The Grotesques

by Tia Reed

  “She’s right.” Rob still had his gun trained on Osborne. The agent was pointing his own piece right back. Romain kept up as they backed toward the fences but Lyn Faringer had opted to stay put. Whatever it cost her, Ella was going to make super sure Adam’s photos went viral if the veterinarian disappeared off the radar. If they made it out of Osborne’s grasp themselves. The shadowy man was cocking his trigger. The beaked grotesque cawed as it wheeled. Caroline was one smart lady. A rock fell from her talons onto Osborne’s hand, knocking the gun to the ground.

  “Agents!” Osborne yelled.

  They bolted. Ella called out to Romain to hurry, then realised they had already traversed the alley to Formby Crescent. Around the corner, Rob unlocked a car and urged them both inside. Romain squashed into the back, refusing to let go of Cecily. Rob pulled out fast and sped toward the station. Every ten seconds or so, Ella cast nervous glances back, checking for pursuit and on Cecily.

  As they turned onto Port Road, a dull thud broke the silence. Ella squealed. A bat was plastered across the rear window. Another hit the roof. They hadn’t travelled a kilometre before a steady stream of the creatures was flying into the car. Some fell to the road, others stuck to the chassis. The stream grew into a swarm, two arriving to take the place of every one that died. Rob turned on the windscreen wipers, sending one bat flying. The sudden appearance of three more, their mouths open like miniature monsters about to bite, made him swerve. Ella gripped the edge of her seat. Rob fought to bring the car under control. The wipers ground against the bodies and snapped. More bats piled on top until their vision of the road was obscured.

  Ella began searching the glove compartment for anything that might prove useful. The bats might be small but as a swarm they were as terrifying as any dragon. She would never understand what Adam saw in the gruesome mammals.

  Rob swore.

  Ella glanced his way.

  “The brakes don’t work. Hang on.”

  Ella felt her fear begin to spiral out of control. She checked on Cecily. “Romain.” Bent over Cecily, stroking her ruffled fur, the mason seemed oblivious to what they were facing. “Romain!”

  The mason grudgingly looked up. Cecily’s breathing, although regular, was slow and her nose appeared paler than Ella remembered.

  “Can you stop Genord?”

  Romain looked around, a perplexed curve to his lips. The bats had completely blocked the windows. The car sped on.

  “Any ideas?” she asked Rob.

  “Hang on.”

  The car hit the pavement. Rob jerked the steering wheel to the right. The car regained the road but skidded sideways across the three lanes. A sustained hoot warned of an approaching vehicle. Romain mumbled something foreign. Ella twisted against her seatbelt. The mason’s eyes appeared vacant.

  “Romain, put on your seatbelt,” she said as the car continued to veer. It hit the median strip and toppled onto its side. On the high side, the driver’s airbag inflated. The car scraped along the road, finally coming to rest facing the direction they had come. A car roared past, its horn blaring. Inside, breathing was the only audible sound.

  “Ella, are you all right?” Rob had begun to repeat the question before her bewildered senses could decipher it.

  “Fine, I think. Romain?” she said, trying to focus on the dashboard. She craned her neck. The motion sent a spike of pain down through her shoulder and along her arm. Rob caught the bite of her lip. Overprotective as always, he pressed her against the seat and twisted toward the back. Not about to be left out, she undid the seatbelt and worked her way around, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain. Romain was holding the cross. It was haloed in a yellow light.

  “You really are a saint,” she said. It was a miracle they were all unscathed.

  Romain grunted. Across his lap, Cecily stirred. Her breathing had become irregular, but there was no sign of injury.

  “You’re bleeding,” Rob said.

  Ella put a hand to her temple. It came away sticky with blood. “I’m fine,” she repeated, wondering when the car would stop spinning around her. Dizzy, she gripped the back of the seat. The least the inconvenience of an accident could have done was clear the car of bats. Several were still crawling over the vehicle and more were thumping the chassis every second. “But I don’t want to get out.”

  “You said these things attacked you?”

  “With a vengeance. Genord said he wants me dead.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  A car screeched to a halt. Its engine whined as it reversed. They heard a door slam, then a scream. Footsteps ran from the scene, and the car’s engine roared back into life. She and Rob exchanged looks, hers helpless, his worried.

  In the back, Cecily was shivering. Her eyes cracked open but her drowsy head kept nodding forward. Romain started muttering again. Cecily stirred and batted a gentle paw at his face. Romain helped her to right herself. Between the two of them it was a tight squeeze in the back.

  “Cecily, help,” Romain said, wriggling a hand past the grotesque’s bulk and onto the door handle.

  “She can’t go out in that condition. She’s barely woken up,” Ella said.

  “Cecily help!” Romain butted a shoulder against the door.

  More bats knocked against the car. Cecily emitted a pitiful mewl. Rob leaned across but was unable to restrain the bulky mason.

  Ella placed a hand on Rob’s shoulder. “He’d never let any harm come to her.”

  “From what you’ve told me, he’s risking her life.”

  “It’s all our lives. And she might be the only one able to get us out of here.”

  Romain tipped himself upside down and kicked at the door. It snapped open. Cecily shook her head.

  “Be careful,” Ella said, and received a nuzzle. Ella gave her soft fur a stroke. Cecily’s deep purr was cut short as she swiped at a bat that had entered the car. Bones crunched as she crushed bats under her paw and in her jaws while Romain kicked the door wide. She wriggled out, enduring bites with swallowed growls. The growls turned into yelps as a swarm flapped around her head.

  Rob pulled out his gun and gripped the door handle.

  “Rob STAY,” Romain said. It was the angriest Ella had heard the mason.

  “She has enough to deal with without worrying about you,” Ella said.

  “If it is Cecily, it’s my job to protect her.”

  “If Romain thinks she can deal with it, she can. He’s more clued in than you think.”

  Rob relented. The windows were slowly clearing as Cecily swiped bat after bat, her paw smearing blood across the glass.

  “She’s hurt.” Ella looked round at Romain. The mason seemed far away. Another volley of bats slammed into the windscreen. The glass cracked. Cecily’s scratching turned frantic.

  “Romain?”

  “Igulum.”

  “I can’t leave her to fight alone,” Rob said, forcing the door ajar.

  Something larger thumped onto the car and slid down the windscreen. Bats disappeared from view. A horned grotesque appeared and grimaced. It snatched at a stray bat and hurled it away, flicked its head, and batted another with its horns.

  “Adam!” Ella said, placing a hand against the windscreen.

  Grotesque Adam’s eyes met hers but he was too busy with the swarm to respond.

  Rob was looking through the widening cracks.

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  The question left Ella feeling exposed. Too much had happened for her to have time to analyse the whirl of emotions that consumed her whenever Adam was around.

  “I think so,” she said.

  Rob inhaled.

  Metal wrenched. The front door opened and Cecily poked her nose into the car. They clambered out. Ella swaggered, dizzy. Whether she was suffering from the bump to her head or the carnage around her, she could not say. Adam rumbled as she steadied herself against the car.

  “Can you come back to me now?” she asked, because she was in love with him.
>
  He climbed onto the wheel and reached a clawed finger to brush stray strands of hair from the wound on her forehead. He was covered in vicious bites. Tearing off a sleeve of her blouse, she cleaned the wounds on his arms and legs, quivering as a dying bat flopped onto her foot.

  THE PATHETIC PRISONER punched his bound hands into a jowly chin and dug an elbow into stomach. A third guard hit him on the back of his neck, kicked him into the dirt, and hauled his screaming hunk of flesh to the river.

  The stake driven into the bank was a fitting monument to Genord’s beloved, a perfect, permanent reminder of Rouen’s obligation. How completely La Gargouille agreed, for when she sniffed the scent of fear, she snorted two columns of steam.

  Ignoring the prisoner’s hysterical pleas, the guards, almost as pale as their charge, secured his bonds not a moment too soon to evade an impatient tongue of fire. Genord laughed as the prisoner emptied his stinking bowels. Smirked as the craven mayor spewed a breathless stream of a verdict.

  “Bernard Lavot, for the crime of murder while looting, having been discovered in the act by the homeowner, you have been sentenced to the penalty of death, to be carried out at the hand of the dragon, La Gargouille. Your life is this day forfeit, the fifth such prisoner to suffer this fate.”

  Genord released his dragon. She lunged, seizing her sacrifice about his ample waist. A jerk of her neck tore the stake from the ground. It dangled by a single rope, jangled as she shook her head to free her meal. She was pure beauty when she extended her slender neck to let her sacrifice slide down her gullet.

  The dragon had her fill, now Genord needed his. He let his eye rove over the gawking crowd. It was fitting that the only lass not to avert her eyes had hair the colour of flame cascading down her back. She fixed him with a coquettish smile and batted long eyelashes his way. Genord beckoned. She hesitated, then slid up to him and ran a finger along his arm, no longer coy but alluring. Genord inhaled the sweet scent of hay. This peasant’s daughter was no queen to enthral in her husband’s chamber but there was no reason he should be denied a flattering bedfellow until the day of greater bounty. He gripped her wrist, pulled her mouth to his, and kissed her with rough desire. She resisted an instant, succumbed to his brief liberty, then placed a hand on his chest and broke away.

  “Will you deliver what you promise?” he asked, eyes narrowed in scrutiny because hers spoke of more innocence than she would have him believe. “I would gift you riches the like of which the Queen has never seen.”

  Her mouth twitched. Without a word she scraped the back of her fingers across his chest, skipped out of his reach, and beckoned.

  “It’s too close,” she whispered every time he sought to pin her down, and skipped toward the woods.

  There was relish in the anticipation. Genord allowed her the leash. It gave him time to imagine the pleasurable ways she might serve. When at last she pulled him into the canopy of a willow, below a slope where a fallen log fronted some bracken and beech grew tall all around, he was tight with lust.

  “Do you like it?” she asked, walking backward with a tentative smile.

  “I like what you offer.” He pushed her to the ground. She cried out as he climbed on top of her, moulding her soft body to his own. She squirmed as he kissed her, gathered up her faded dress, and worked his hands inside her warm undergarments.

  “I want you to touch me,” he said.

  She gasped, raised a tentative hand to his face looking every bit as scared as all the other wenches he had forced his desires upon.

  “Not there,” he said, taking her hand and dragging it down. She strained against his pull but he had the way of it, laughing because her resistance aroused him to a frenzy he was sure no willing partner could elicit. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he moved his lips to her ear to make the threat that never failed to cow. “You would prefer to play with me than with La Gargouille.” He linked with his dragon, and her bugle drifted to them on the wind.

  She went limp. It was a start but she wasn’t weeping yet, and this tease needed to be taught a lesson. He tore open her bodice and fondled her white breasts.

  “Now kiss me,” he instructed, “because you will participate in this.”

  Her eyes strained to the side but there was no escape from his pleasure.

  “Need I call the dragon before you behave?”

  On an intake of breath, she gave the tiniest shake of her head, then lifted her head and brushed his lips with her own.

  “Not passionate enough.”

  He had hardly voiced the thought when a blow to the back of his head knocked him onto the wench. He fought to summon his power, but the splitting pain muddled his thoughts. He heard a gruff voice say, “You did real good, Rosalie.” Then he took another bludgeon to the head, and the world turned black.

  ELLA SNAPPED OUT of the vision to find traffic whizzing past, screeching and swerving as drivers looked through rear view mirrors at the peculiar sight. Impatient, Adam hustled her to the pavement. One wing drooping, Cecily limped to Romain. She sat at his feet and nuzzled his hand. Her wounds looked deeper than Adam’s. Ella bandaged the worst with the other sleeve from her shirt. Romain observed her every move with the air of a protective father while Adam pointed to oozing flesh with worried clucks.

  “Can you heal them?” Ella asked the mason.

  Romain frowned. “No heal.”

  His miraculous gravelly paste was worth a fortune if he cared to patent it. Those wounds could turn septic, but did the grotesques need a doctor or a vet?

  “What do we do now?” she asked Rob.

  “We get ready to fight.” The detective was looking down the road. A black BMW braked in front of them.

  “Who is he?” Ella asked as Osborne climbed out. He was flanked by two suits, who revealed their firearms by brushing their jackets aside as they placed their hands on their hips.

  “Someone we’re probably going to regret crossing.”

  Cecily and Adam began a heated exchange of chirps and growls.

  “One go. One stay,” Romain said.

  “You need to make a decision fast,” Ella said.

  Adam growled at Osborne and spread his wings. Without warning Cecily pounced on Adam, flattening him. She planted a slobbery lick across his face and sprang into flight.

  “Detective, the monsters and the mason, please.”

  The stocky trooper aimed and shot at Cecily. She screeched and tumbled. Romain howled. Adam flew at the shooter and grappled with the gun, biting into biceps when the suit refused to let go, twisting so his taller partner did not have a clear shot. When Cecily righted herself and struggled over the shops, Ella let out her breath.

  “Igulum,” Romain moaned.

  “There are no monsters here,” Rob said. “And the mason is being detained for questioning in an ongoing murder investigation.”

  “Igulum.” Romain looked up. Another grotesque was labouring toward them.

  Osborne looked down his nose. “What could you possibly learn from the gibberish of a severely disabled man?” He turned to the taller suit, who was attempting to prise Adam off his comrade. “Shoot it.”

  “No!” Ella screamed.

  A gun fired. The stout suit yelled and collapsed. Her faithful detective had his smoking gun trained on Osborne. Ella stomped on the suit’s arm, kicked the gun from his reach, and looked at Rob in dismay. This time she was going to jail for a very long time.

  “Ella, get Adam and Romain out of here.”

  “Your career is over, Detective.”

  Ella leaped on the gun. Osborne’s men struggled up and moved to take Romain. Thank their lucky stars a withered grotesque not unlike Adam dropped in front of them, swinging his wings and clawing at their torsos. Ella grabbed Adam’s leathery hand and ran, Rob and Romain on her heels.

  A gunshot cracked. A plaintive shriek shattered the night. Ella faltered. Romain cried out. Back on the road, Igulum lay crumpled in a pool of blood. A precise lift of the arm had Osborne aiming the gun at the
old god’s head. Ella covered her mouth as the grotesque crawled toward the car, his tough hide scraping the bitumen. Grimacing with pain, the tall trooper opened the trunk. His stocky comrade reached for a length of rope. Oblivious, Igulum dug talons into the front tyre. Osborne watched while his man kicked and shoved to prise it free. Holding fast, the grotesque heaved forward and sank fangs through the tread. Air hissed. The heavy stepped back.

  “No!” Ella screamed.

  Too late.

  Osborne shot the grotesque in the head.

  A moment of stunned silence answered the explosive shot. It caved into Romain’s sobs and Adam’s distressed roar. It took all Rob and Ella’s strength to prevent the mason running to the dead grotesque.

  Osborne gestured their way. As one, the three men approached.

  They ran. Adam tumbled over his feet.

  A car swerved around Osborne’s vehicle and pulled up beside them. The driver reached over to open the passenger side door.

  “Get in,” Chief Inspector Roan said. He ignored the red lights as he sped down Port Road and turned onto West Terrace. Wedged between Adam and Romain, Ella couldn’t reach her seat belt. She gritted her teeth and held onto the seat.

  “We need somewhere we can talk. Osborne will have any place he can associate with us covered. Any ideas?” Roan asked as he wove through traffic.

  “I might know somewhere,” she said. “But we’ll need Brendan Rhymes to set it up.”

  Roan fished a mobile out of his hip pocket and tossed it back. “We’ll pick him up at the station.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Rouen. 625 A.D.

  THE HUT WAS a tangle of collapsed beams and charred wood. Voices echoed through its ruin, the laughter and tears of two young boys mixing with the sorrow of a burdened father.

  “You’ll want to be on your way. This town does not welcome strangers.”