The Magnificent Monsters of Cedar Street

by Lauren Oliver

  A large white blur soared over her head. Cabal. The loyal zuppy launched himself on Crunch’s back, claws out, howling with outrage. But Crunch shook him off easily, as if he were no larger than a fly. Cabal landed a few feet away, somersaulting through the snow, until he thunked nose-first against the wall. He stood up, dazed, and collapsed again.

  “Cabal!” Cordelia tried to reach for him but Crunch yanked her, hard, and she thudded onto her back as pain ripped through her. Her boot slipped off, taking her sock with it, so Cordelia’s bare toes were left wiggling in the air. Crunch tossed the boot away, grinning raggedly, his mouth dripping dark slobber on the snow. Cordelia’s heart stopped: it was over.

  Crunch lunged. Instinctively, Cordelia closed her eyes. She would be gobbled up like a dog biscuit. Crunch would chew her from her ankles to her eyeballs.

  “Leave . . . her . . . alone!”

  She heard a loud thwack, followed by a whimper. When she felt no thick fangs sinking into her thigh—when she heard no bones snap—she opened her eyes. Crunch had drawn back, shaking snow from his whiskers. As she watched, a second snowball whizzed past her shoulders and whacked Crunch directly between the eyes.

  “Hurry, Cordelia!” Gregory bent down and straightened up in one fluid motion, and let loose another volley of snow, his arm moving so fast it was a blur.

  Cordelia grabbed her boot, from which her sock was still dangling limply, and scooped up the still-dazed Cabal. Floundering through the heavy powder, snowballs still whipping past her face, she dashed toward the door to the old print works, which Gregory had managed to open. She hurtled in through the darkness of the doorway. Icky was perched on a piece of old machinery, gnashing his teeth, chittering agitatedly. Gregory plunged in after her.

  They slammed the door and Cordelia collapsed against it. A second later, she felt the wood shudder, as though punched from outside by a giant fist. She could hear Crunch snarling on the other side of the door. There was a pause, and then the frame rattled again and nearly sent Cordelia sprawling.

  Crunch was trying to break through the door.

  “A little help, Gregory?” she shrieked, as the door flexed behind her again and wood splintered and showered her with sawdust.

  “Give me a second.” Gregory had disappeared into the dark. There was a tremendous creaking and the groan of something heavy on the floorboards, and a moment later he reappeared, pushing one of the vast metal printing presses, his face beaded with sweat. With Cordelia’s help, he shoved the iron machine against the door. Almost instantly, the wood stopped rattling. Cordelia could finally breathe. They could still hear Crunch growling and snarling outside, but she knew there was no way he could make it past the door now.

  “This way,” Gregory whispered, taking the hand that wasn’t holding her boot. They threaded through the old print shop, past a network of rusted machinery, hunched like slumbering beasts in the dark. A bit of light filtered in through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating old tools encased in cobwebs and paper trampled to pulp on the ground. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust, so their footsteps were muffled.

  At the back of the shop was a creaky spiral staircase that wound up into a narrow, musty attic. There, Gregory located a small trapdoor in the ceiling. Balancing on a trunk, and using a broken broom handle for leverage, he managed to pry the door open, revealing a drop-down ladder, a soft white square of pale sky, and the brick peak of a nearby chimney. Snow drifted gently through the opening and landed on Cordelia’s cheeks like individual kisses. She suddenly felt so happy, she wanted to shout.

  Icky, a natural climber, was up the ladder first. Gregory followed him, holding tight to a whimpering Cabal. Cordelia pulled on her sock, now soaking wet, and wiggled her foot into her boot. She tucked the dragon deeper into her pocket before making the climb to the roof.

  Now, a vast portion of Boston was spread out in front of them, dazzling inside a fine white blanket. Cordelia could see the entirety of South Boston, bracketed by two harbors, and the narrow Fort Point Channel that separated their spit of land from Back Bay. Horses trudged carriages sluggishly through the snowy streets. Smoke threaded the air from hundreds of chimneys. The snow was at last letting up, and long fingers of sunlight broke through the clouds in the east.

  Gregory let out a long crow of satisfaction. “Yahooo!” His voice bounced from roof to chimney and back. He started trudging toward the edge of the roof, which closely abutted its neighbor. They could make it across the whole of Boston without once touching the ground.

  When Cordelia removed the dragon from her pocket, her fingers brushed against the flyer she had accidentally ripped from the wall. She must have unconsciously stuffed it in her pocket. Now, smoothing out the page, she saw the words emblazoned in red across the top of the page. Suddenly, she felt as if she’d opened her mouth and swallowed a snowball.

  COME SEE SERGEI’S

  NEW AND IMPROVED

  WORLD-FAMOUS MONSTER CIRCUS,

  FEATURING THE WORLD’S MOST HORRIFIC

  AND HORRIFYING MONSTERS!!

  AFFORDABLE FAMILY FUN!

  UNION SQUARE PARK, NEW YORK CITY, 8 P.M.

  EVERY DAY BUT SUNDAY

  NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN UNDER AGE SEVEN

  (PLEASE DO NOT FEED OR TICKLE THE MONSTERS.)

  **NO PUBLIC TOILETS**

  “Gregory, look.” Cordelia read the advertisement aloud, placing particular emphasis on the words Monster Circus. Gregory’s eyes grew wide.

  “Do you think . . . ?” he asked, in a hushed voice.

  Cordelia read the words over and over, as if her father’s face might come floating out of them. She had never heard of anyone else keeping any monsters, much less enough monsters to make up a circus. Could the circus have stolen them from her father, eager for a new moneymaking attraction?

  It was the best lead they had. The only lead they had. She took a deep breath. “It can’t be a coincidence,” she said. “The trail led us here.”

  Gregory let out a long whistle. “Well, then,” he said, pivoting his hat to the right, “I guess we’re going to New York.”

  Chapter 12

  ABSOLUTELY NO ANIMALS ALLOWED.

  The sign, written in very large red letters, was posted just outside the vast glass doors of the new South Station.

  Gregory and Cordelia were tucked away across the street in the shadowed alcove of an abandoned warehouse, watching the flood of men and women entering the train station, and debating what to do. Technically, neither Icky nor the dragon was a pet—but she didn’t think it likely that the train station would make an exception for monsters. And then there was Cabal, who was both a monster and a pet. If she and Gregory waltzed into the crowded train station with a filch, a zuppy, and a dragon, they were likely to cause mass confusion, if not panic—even if the dragon was only a baby, the filch too cranky and old to do any harm, and the zuppy more likely to lick a person to death than to bite.

  “The dragon can stay in your jacket pocket, just so long as he doesn’t breathe too hard,” Gregory said.

  “But that still leaves Cabal and Icky to deal with,” Cordelia said.

  Gregory tried, unsuccessfully, to coax Icky into the rucksack. It was no use. Icky was too big, and he squirmed too much. The whole effect was of a leather satchel that had grown furry limbs and come alive, which was, Cordelia expected, just as likely to gain unwanted attention as a regular filch.

  Cordelia chewed on her lower lip. Across the street, merchants were hawking clothing and trinkets in front of the station doors. Carriages clattered loudly up and down the street, the noise of the horses’ hooves like the constant chatter of gigantic teeth. Women in vast skirts, and men in tall hats and long overcoats, swept through the glass doors.

  Everyone seemed busy and preoccupied and Important. Their faces all seemed to blend together, as if Cordelia were actually watching one image endlessly repeated. . . .

  An idea blinked in her brain. Of course. They must blend in.

&nb
sp; If they looked just like everybody else, then no one would single them out for trouble. It was like her father always said—people were afraid of monsters only because they were afraid of difference.

  “Stay here,” she commanded Gregory. She darted out into the street before he could stop her and quickly zigzagged around the maze of carriages and horses, crossing over to the wooden stalls arrayed with bits of fabric, hats and buttons, leather gloves, and cheap pocket watches. It didn’t take her long to pick out what she wanted: a pair of dusty spectacles, a floppy brown hat, a cheap woolen shawl, and a soft green scarf. She dug in her pocket for the leather purse she had taken from the biscuit tin and paid with a dollar.

  “You picked a funny time to go shopping,” Gregory said, when she made it back across the street.

  “Don’t be a blister,” she said, unfurling the scarf. “None of it is for me. Don’t you see? We’ll disguise the monsters so they’ll blend in.” She reached for Cabal, and—with several expert twists—cocooned him in the scarf, so that only his eyes and the very tip of his nose were showing. “Congratulations,” she said, passing the wriggling bundle to Gregory. “You’re a big brother now.”

  Gregory made a face. “He makes a pretty ugly baby.”

  “Shhh. He’ll hear you.” Cordelia kneeled so she was eye level with the filch. As though sensing her intentions, Icky scooted away, but Cordelia was too quick. She threw the old woolen shawl over his shoulders and knotted it quickly at the throat. Before the filch could resist, she had jammed the hat over his head and rammed the spectacles onto his small, sloped nose. She stood up again, admiring her work. From a distance, Icky might easily pass for a very small, very old person—especially since the shawl constrained his movements, and he could only hobble along.

  “What’s he supposed to be?” Gregory asked, squinting.

  “That’s your grandfather,” Cordelia said, feeling pleased with herself. “So you might as well show him some respect. Now come on. Let’s go.”

  Cordelia moved confidently into the street and Gregory, carrying Cabal, trailed behind her. Icky limped forward, gnashing his teeth, doing a very convincing impression of someone’s ill-tempered relative. Cordelia felt a small thrill: they waltzed by a patrolman and passed easily into the train station. No one spared them even a glance, and Cordelia had to scold Gregory only once for tucking Cabal under his arm like a football instead of carrying him the correct way.

  Inside the station, Cordelia paused, overwhelmed. The air vibrated with voices and footsteps. The vast space was teeming with people: women in long skirts and laborers crowded the platforms, where enormous trains sat steaming and blazing like mythic monsters. Wandering families, tented in threadbare clothing, sat among the heaps of paltry belongings, waiting for the chance to sneak onto one of the freight trains. Policemen prodded vagrants awake with their billy clubs and chased off hungry orphans hanging big-eyed near the vendors hawking day-old pastries for twice what they were worth. Many rail lines had gone out of service due to Hard Times, and half the ticket windows were shuttered or papered over with newspapers pointing blame for the Hard Times on everything from greedy factory owners to foreign plots.

  If Cordelia squinted, she saw not individuals but dizzying patterns of color breaking apart and rearranging themselves. It occurred to her, standing there, just how vast the world was, and just how many people it contained. She wished herself momentarily back in her house, with its familiar curves and corners, its worn green carpet and burbling faucets.

  “There’s a train for New York at half past eleven,” Gregory said. He was staring up at an enormous board and proudly indicated the departure, written in big wooden letters. He seemed oblivious to the noise and the rush all around them. Then Cordelia remembered that he had already made the journey from Boston to New York, but in reverse.

  “We need tickets,” Gregory said. “Have you got any money?”

  “Enough,” Cordelia said. She hoped. Gregory pointed out the long line of people in front of the ticket booth. Cordelia gripped Icky’s hand and tugged him forward, speaking out loud in a high-pitched voice. “This way, Grandpa. Almost there now . . .”

  “Two tickets for New York City, please,” Gregory said, as soon as they reached the ticket booth.

  The man behind the smudgy glass window had a face that reminded Cordelia of the species Salientia groticus, or venomous toad. “Round-trip or one-way?”

  Gregory looked at Cordelia and shrugged. Her stomach squeezed up. She had no idea how long it would be before they could return to Boston. “One way,” she said, fingering the coins left in her purse. The words sounded very final.

  The man scowled, which only furthered the impression of a toad that had soaked too long in the water. “What about ’im?” he said, jerking his chin toward Icky.

  Cordelia’s stomach sank. She hadn’t considered that she’d be forced to pay Icky’s way. “Please,” she said softly. “We don’t have very much money.”

  “He’s old,” Gregory piped up. “He might even croak before he gets to New York.”

  Icky gnashed his teeth in Gregory’s direction. Luckily, the man behind the ticket counter didn’t notice.

  “Three people, three fares,” he said. “That’s nine dollars.” Cordelia paid, feeling sick to her stomach, and received three printed tickets in exchange. They had only two dollars left, and a handful of change.

  But she forgot to be anxious when she saw the train: a large, gleaming bullet of metal, fitted with shiny brass rails and tasseled curtains, snorting billows of dark smoke like a full-grown dragon. The gears and the wheels, the smoke and steel, the bell that was even now ringing, and the conductor calling for passengers to board—it all spoke of adventure.

  Magic, the train seemed to say. There is still magic in the world.

  Inside, the corridors were very narrow and thickly carpeted, so that it felt like walking across a surface of pudding. Cordelia and Gregory found an empty compartment fitted with two small cushioned benches, and curtains to draw across the doors so they would not be visible from the hall. As the train chugged away from the station, Gregory unrolled Cabal from his scarf so the zuppy could stretch his legs. Icky had grown fond of his disguise, it seemed, and was happily gnawing on a corner of his shawl, every so often adjusting his glasses on his nose with one long, crooked finger. Cordelia extracted the dragon from her pocket and let him hop onto her lap.

  “But as soon as the conductor comes along, back in the pocket you go.” The dragon bared his tiny fangs. “No arguments,” she said, and rubbed his knobby spine with a thumb.

  Cordelia leaned back as the train picked up speed, rolling them past a blur of streets and buildings, until the individual shapes became a mere wash of gray. At last they were on their way.

  But Gregory wouldn’t settle down. He paced. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He picked at the sleeves of his coat. Every few minutes, he got up and moved to the doors, twitching apart the curtains to peer into the hall.

  “Will you stop jumping around like a grasshopper?” Cordelia said finally. “It’s making me nervous.”

  “I can’t help it.” Gregory closed the curtains again. “I keep thinking . . . I don’t know. It’s stupid.” He sat down, then almost immediately stood, then sat again.

  “What’s stupid?”

  He leaned forward, his eyes ticking nervously from left to right, as if he expected someone might be hiding behind the cushions of the benches, ready to jump out at them. “I keep feeling as if we’re being followed,” he whispered. “My stomach is all knotted up.”

  Cordelia had had that feeling too—of being observed and watched from afar. But she shook her head. “You’re probably just hungry,” she said.

  “Maybe,” Gregory said. He looked unconvinced, but at least he stopped fidgeting, and he accepted the jerky and the seed bread that Cordelia gave him from her rucksack.

  Outside the train, the buildings melted away and became brown hills, spotted with snow. They saw blue sk
ies, and clouds like puffs of white smoke. Cordelia pressed her nose to the glass, which misted under her breath. She imagined, for an instant, that she saw her mother’s face drawn in the curves of a nearby cloud.

  Your mother is everywhere now, her father had once told her. She’s with the magic. She’s in the ground and the air and the trees, and in every creature, seen and unseen. He’d meant it to be comforting, not understanding that Cordelia didn’t want her mom to be everywhere. She wanted her to be one place: with Cordelia.

  Don’t worry, Mom, she thought up toward the clouds and the sky. I’ll find Dad. I’ll get our monsters back. Everything will go back to the way it was.

  She drew a heart in the condensation from her breath and watched it evaporate to nothing.

  Chapter 13

  The Limited train to New York was one of the fastest in the country and would arrive at Grand Central Station in exactly six and a half hours. Cordelia soon fell asleep to a view of the rich patchwork of snow-dotted fields outside her window, and awoke with a start to discover that the sun was already setting behind interwoven threads of a reeking industrial smoke: they had reached the outlying sprawl of bone-boiling factories and tanneries just north of New York City. Gray buildings, gray smoke piping from gray tin chimneys, gray horses—even gray people moving, hunched, along the tracks. Cordelia’s stomach tightened.

  “Gregory.” She reached out and toed him. He had fallen asleep with his head tilted back against the leather seat and his mouth open. He came awake with a start. “We’re here,” she said. “New York.” She added, “Wipe your chin. You’ve been drooling worse than a Mattahorn salivus.”

  Gregory blinked sleepily. “A what?” he said, yawning.