by Jon Skovron
ALSO BY JON SKOVRON
Man Made Boy
VIKING
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 2015
Copyright © 2015 by Jon Skovron
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Skovron, Jon.
This broken wondrous world / by Jon Skovron.
pages cm
Sequel to: Man made Boy.
Summary: As Boy, the hacker son of Frankenstein’s Monster and the Bride, moves to Switzerland to enroll in college, the secret world of monsters and mythical creatures hiding in plain sight is torn apart by conflict.
ISBN 978-1-101-61291-0)
[1. Monsters—Fiction. 2. Human beings—Fiction. 3. Hackers—Fiction. 4. Science fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.S628393Th 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014028305
Version_1
For my stepfather, Tom Barberic, who knows of war, its costs, and the hope that endures despite it.
Contents
Also By Jon Skovron
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
PART 1
1: Meet the Frankensteins
2: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity
3: Truth Will Out
4: Good Neighbor
5: DIY Family
PART 2
6: Home for the Holidays
7: Song and Dance
8: Not My Best Day
9: Untrust Us
10: The Freudian Slip
11: The Gathering Storm
PART 3
12: At Sea
13: On Noble’s Isle
14: What Matters
15: Closing Night
16: Teratology
PART 4
17: Deceiving Appearances
18: Deduction
19: Boy Meets World
20: Where the Wild Things Are
21: Shock Therapy
PART 5
22: The Monster Who Challenged the World
23: The Revenge of Robot Junior
24: The Long Way Home
Acknowledgments
PART 1
Old World
“Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.”
—FROM “MUTABILITY,”
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
1
Meet the Frankensteins
WHEN I WAS a little boy, I had nightmares about them: mad scientists in lab coats and rubber gloves, hunched and wild-eyed, with bedhead hair and shrill voices that crackled like electricity.
The Frankensteins.
I’d been stressing about this meeting for the entire seven-hour flight from New York. Now I stood in the baggage claim area of Geneva International Airport, holding my duffel bag like it was a life preserver that would keep me afloat in this sea of humans all around me. My father had assured me the Frankensteins were nice people. But “nice” for him was a pretty broad term that included werewolves, vampires, and trolls. And that was okay. I was used to those kinds of creatures.
But when I finally saw the people holding up the small, handwritten sign that said FRANKENSTEIN, I saw something that I wasn’t prepared for. Something that was totally out of my realm of experience: they were completely, utterly, mind-bogglingly normal.
Dr. Frankenstein was an older middle-aged guy in a button-up shirt and wire-frame glasses. He had thinning blond hair, graying at the temples, and permanent furrows in his high forehead. His wife looked a little younger, but not much. She wore a simple flowered dress and had jet-black hair, thick eyelashes, and high cheekbones. Their daughter was about twelve. She had her long, blonde hair back in a ponytail, and with her jeans and vintage Coke T-shirt, could have been any preteen girl from anywhere.
They looked at me now, these normal-seeming people, and I tried to gauge their reaction to me. My dad had been sending them pictures of me all throughout my childhood, so theoretically they knew what they were getting into. But pictures could only convey so much and I wasn’t yet ruling out the possibility that they would all run screaming. It wouldn’t be the first time I inspired that reaction. So I decided it would be best to let them make the first move.
“You must be . . . Boy, yes?” said Dr. Frankenstein in a French-sounding accent similar to my dad’s. He smiled warmly and thrust out his hand. “Welcome to Switzerland.”
“It’s good to meet you, Dr. Frankenstein.” I shook his hand as gently as I could. My nerves were strung really tight and accidentally crushing the bones in his hand would make a lousy first impression. I appreciated that he didn’t flinch when I covered his slim, manicured hand with my own thick, stitched-together one.
“Please call me William,” he said. “You are family.”
“Uh, thanks.” The word family threw me off a little, but I tried to take it in stride. “I should probably go by something other than ‘Boy.’ It’s what my dad named me, but it doesn’t sound very . . . human.” When I lived out among humans before, sometimes I went by the name Frank. But that was a joke that had just come back to haunt me. Frank Frankenstein. Har-har.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” said William. “We want you to feel that you belong here.”
He said it so sincerely, so intensely, like he thought it was actually possible I could feel like I belonged here with them. I forced a smile. “Okay.”
His wife nudged him.
“Ah, yes!” He gestured to her. “This is my wife, Elisa.”
“Boy, it is simply a delight to have you with us at last!” she said in an even thicker French accent. Then she stepped in close to me, went up on her tiptoes, and lightly kissed each of my cheeks. It happened so quickly and casually that I was completely unprepared. This was a European custom, I guess, but as she stepped away, I knew I was blushing furiously. Human women didn’t generally kiss me. Like, ever.
“And this,” said William, “is our daughter, Giselle. Say hello to your cousin, Giselle.”
“Hey.” She was the only one of the three who gave me the look most humans did when they met me, somewhere between shock and awe, with a twinge of disgust. It didn’t really bother me anymore.
“Hey.” I gave her a little grin, like we were on the same side and it was these adults making things uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell if she was buying it.
“Sorry for her rudeness,” said William. “She thinks she’s a teenager already! Tries so hard to be cool like her big brother, you know?”
She gave him a withering look.
“It’s totally fine,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was enforced fake familial affection.
“Sadly, Henri could not be here to meet you.” There was a hint of irritation in William’s voice. “He is visiting a friend in Paris.
But he will be back any day now. Plenty of time for the two of you to get acquainted before classes begin. He is entering as a freshman this year also.”
“Great.” I wondered if Henri had chosen this day to be in Paris on purpose. Maybe not all the Frankensteins were on board with welcoming me like some prodigal son.
“Well, you must be positively exhausted after your flight!” said Elisa brightly. “Let’s get you home, fed, and comfortable, yes? I know you’ll love it at Villa Diodati.”
WE CLIMBED INTO the Frankensteins’ sleek black Audi. It had a leather interior and a full GPS rig on the dashboard. Most of my car experiences were riding in New York cabs. Well, there was also that time a middle-aged werewolf named Mozart showed me how to hot-wire an old Pontiac. Regardless, I’d never been in a car this nice.
Elisa insisted I ride up front with William. Out of politeness or so I didn’t sit next to Giselle, I wasn’t sure. But it was fine because it gave me a better view of my surroundings. I’d traveled a lot in the States, but this was my first time in another country. And there was a lot to look at as we drove through Geneva. Once we got out of the airport, you could tell at a glance this wasn’t America. Sure, there were Swiss flags everywhere, but it was something more than that. In the States, things shifted constantly and nothing ever really felt permanent. But these stone buildings, narrow cobblestone streets, fountains, and old cathedrals had been around a long time. And even they were nothing compared with the line of massive, snowcapped mountains that stretched across the horizon. Those seemed like they were forever.
“The Jura Mountains,” said William, nodding in their direction. “Impressive, no? It is good to keep them in view. For perspective. We may think the efforts of humanity are mighty. Our science and technology. But what are these things, compared to that?” He snapped his fingers. “Gone in a blink!”
I thought about my parents, how hard and unchangeable they usually seemed to me. At times they were more like those mountains than like people. Part of the reason I’d come to Geneva was to understand my parents and where they came from. I assumed I’d get most of that from the Frankensteins themselves. But maybe that wasn’t the whole picture.
“Is it possible to go up into those mountains?” I asked.
He smiled, his eyes still on the road. “It depends on how high you want to go.” He glanced at me. Then, a little hesitantly, he said, “I understand that your father lived on Mont Blanc for months at a time. So I think you could go wherever you wish.”
WHEN I FIRST saw the Villa Diodati, it was hard to think of the massive building as a home. It was four stories tall and about the width of a New York apartment building, with thick columns spaced evenly across the front. As we drove along the narrow, treelined driveway, it rose up in front of us like some Gothic mansion. Well, I guess technically it was a Gothic mansion. But it didn’t look gloomy at all. It had bright beige walls, blue shutters, graceful balconies, and lots of decorative architectural things I didn’t know the names for. It was bordered by trees on three sides and Lake Geneva on the fourth. There was even a little private dock at the lake with a sailboat tied up to it. In the fading afternoon sun, it looked like a fancy resort hotel.
“Well?” asked William as we pulled up to the front entrance. “What do you think of your new home?”
“It’s . . .”
How could I possibly express just how different this was from my childhood? I’d grown up in a community of monsters posing as a Broadway company, living in cramped, dark caverns beneath the theater. The Frankensteins didn’t know anything about The Show, though. As far as they knew, my parents and I were the only real monsters in existence.
So I just said, “It’s incredible.”
Elisa leaned forward from the backseat and put her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers were long, thin, and covered in rings.
“You know, I remember the first time William brought me here. I thought, My God, it’s more like a museum than a home!” She gave a little laugh. “But while it seems intimidating on the outside, I hope you will agree that it is very warm and inviting on the inside! Now, let us give you the tour and show you to your new room.”
THE INSIDE WAS, if anything, even more intimidating and uptight than the outside. Everything looked antique, expensive, and breakable. I’m not so good with breakables.
Even more unnerving was the silence. Theater people are noisy by nature; theater monsters probably even more so. And New York City itself never really shuts up. So I was used to noise. It all kind of blended together and faded into the background. But in this place, silence was the default. As the four of us moved from room to room, our footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed like intrusions into a private conversation. The only sound that felt like it belonged was the steady tick of an old grandfather clock in the library.
And yeah, there was a real library. Also a dining room, a foyer, a living room, an entertainment and game room, several bathrooms, a kitchen, a laundry room, a sunroom, and a meditation room. And that was just on the first floor. It took a while for Elisa’s tour to get through the house but finally we arrived at my room.
“It should have everything you need,” she said, gesturing that I should go in first. “But please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed.”
By this time, I wasn’t surprised that it had a king-sized four-poster bed or a gigantic mahogany writing desk and wardrobe. It was exactly the kind of stuff I’d seen all through the house. What caught my attention was the view. I stepped out onto the small balcony and put my hands on the curved iron railing. The setting sun sparkled on Lake Geneva’s calm surface and gleamed off the distant snowy peaks of the mountains.
“Do you like it?” asked Elisa.
I turned back to them. All three stood in the doorway. Giselle looked utterly bored, but William and Elisa looked expectant. Worried, even.
“Yes,” I said. “More than I can express.”
Their faces lit up.
“That’s wonderful!” said William. “We are so glad. Now, I’m sure you’d like to get settled in. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”
“Oh, uh, what’s the password for your wireless Internet?” I asked.
“Ah, yes,” said William. “You will want to let your parents know you have arrived safely.” He turned to Elisa, looking unsure.
“Yes, we have the Wi-Fi!” she said. “And the password is . . . eh.” She frowned. “Well, I know Henri wrote it down for me somewhere. I will find it for you!”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Not at all!” said Elisa. “Now if you will excuse me, I must see to supper. We will be eating at eight o’clock.”
“Great,” I said.
And with that, all three vanished and I was left alone in my new room.
I turned back and looked out across the lake for a while longer, the snowcapped mountains glowing red in the setting sun. There was a moment, just as twilight turned to darkness, when I caught a flash of something way out in the middle of the lake. Or someone. It seemed human shaped, anyway. But it was gone so quickly, I had to wonder if I’d seen anything at all.
I unpacked my bags, but I didn’t have much stuff so I still had some time before dinner. I booted up my laptop. While I waited for it to load, I carefully loosened the stitches on the underside of my wrists to expose the USB ports underneath. Then I took cables from the laptop and plugged them into my wrists. My hands were strong, but they were thick and clumsy. No good for typing. So I’d had my mom install USB jacks that connected directly to my nervous system to bypass my hands. All I had to do was think about typing and it happened.
When the laptop had finished booting up, green text flashed across the black screen.
Vi: Hello, Boy. How was the flight?
Vi stood for Viral Intelligence. She was a virtual artificial intelligence I created a little over a year ago. Well, actually she wa
s the second version, which I had created only a few months ago. The first version went psychotic and killed a bunch of people. That version had started off completely omniscient and able to infect any digital device she came in contact with. I think that was just way too much power for a new consciousness to handle. So for now, this version was limited to living on my laptop and only knew about as much as Wikipedia (which was still a lot). We communicated by chat right now, but she and I were working on some voice recognition software that I hoped would let us talk to each other a little more directly soon.
b0y: Hey, Vi. The flight was long and boring. The stewardess wouldn’t give me a beer.
Vi: Studies suggest that people at higher elevations are more easily intoxicated.
b0y: That’s what I wanted to test out. Sadly, the law got in the way of science.
Vi: You are joking.
b0y: Yeah, kind of.
Vi: Are you in a good mood, then? Or are you sad? I have noticed that when you are sad you make jokes more frequently.
b0y: Not sad exactly. I don’t know what I am. In doubt, I guess.
Vi: What do you doubt?
b0y: Whether I should be here. Whether I _belong_ here.
Vi: Are the Frankensteins unwelcoming?
b0y: No, they’re welcoming. Almost too much. It’s a little weird.
Vi: Perhaps they hope to make amends for the misdeeds of their ancestor?
b0y: Yeah, I think that’s it. I just wish they’d treat me like a normal person, you know?
Vi: But you aren’t a normal person.
b0y: Ugh, thanks.
Vi: Well, it’s true.
b0y: I know. And I should be grateful that they aren’t a bunch of cackling, evil scientists. But still, I feel like I have nothing in common with these people. I feel kind of . . . isolated, I guess.
Vi: Have you met them all?
b0y: No, there’s one more. Henri. He’s actually around my age. But I think he made a point of not being here when I arrived, so I’m not getting my hopes up.
