by Jon Skovron
“Good.” She nodded with satisfaction. “There is hope for you after all. Now, follow me.”
MARIA’S HOUSE WAS massive. Probably about as big as the Villa Diodati. But where the Frankensteins had lots of old breakable stuff and antique furniture in dark, brooding colors, Maria had lots of bright paintings, metal sculptures, and rich, colored fabrics. It looked nice without feeling oppressive.
I forced myself not to wince at every step as she led me down a flight of stairs. At the bottom was a big, open kitchen.
“It’s alive!” said Claire.
She, Mozart, and Henri sat at a wooden table in the next room, digging into steaming-hot golden tamales.
“Hey, nice stitches,” I said. In addition to a fading black eye, she had a small, neat line of black thread running down from the outer corner of her eye to her cheekbone.
“Thought I’d give your look a try,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Hot.” I was pretty sure she was joking, but I actually wasn’t.
“Good to see you up and about,” said Mozart. “You took a real beating.”
“Bah, he is young. He recovers fast,” said Maria, coming over with a large pitcher and filling up his coffee mug. “But you, old wolf. What do you think you were doing?”
“What I had to,” he said, taking a bite of tamale.
“Ha,” she said, turning to go.
“Oh, come on.” Mozart reached out and lightly touched her arm. “You can’t stay mad at me forever.”
She glared at him, muttering something in Spanish.
“Por favor, Perricholi,” he said, batting his eyes and grinning his wolfish grin.
She sighed and stroked his bearded cheek. “Aie, you will be the death of me yet, old wolf. And you mustn’t call me La Perricholi. That is Camilla’s title now, by right. I am too old for such things.” She yanked on his beard until he winced. “As are you!”
He took hold of her hand and kissed it. “You’ll always be La Perricholi to me, señora.”
I turned to Claire with a questioning look.
She rolled her eyes. “Since we got here, they’ve been like this.”
“Kids, you mind your business,” said Mozart, but he was still smiling as Maria walked back to the kitchen.
“Where is La Perricholi?” I asked as I sat down at an empty chair. “Or I guess Camilla?”
“Sorry, that was my bad,” said Mozart. “Call her La Perricholi. Unless you want another sock in the jaw.”
“Got it,” I said. “So is she here?”
He shrugged. “She’s off doing whatever La Perricholi does. Fighting crime or something these days, isn’t that right, Maria?”
Maria came back in holding a plate piled with tamales. “Fighting crime?” she said as she put the plate in front of me. “She is not some superhero vigilante inflicting law and order like . . . eh, the Batman.”
“No?” asked Mozart, sounding skeptical.
“She is a champion of the people, not of the law,” said Maria.
“So she is like Robin Hood?” asked Henri.
Maria and Mozart exchanged a look.
“Something like that,” said Mozart. “Anyway, she’ll be back. And it’s not like we’re going anywhere right now. Robert’s in no shape to travel.”
“Where is he?” I asked. I took a bite of my tamale, which was packed with some sort of spicy chicken and tasted like the best thing I’d ever eaten in my life.
“Healing,” said Maria.
“Is he secured? I know he looks weak, but if he shifts—”
“I am aware of his nature,” she said. “He and his brother will not be able to escape or harm anyone at present.”
“I just can’t believe how far gone Stephen is,” said Claire. “Especially since he was always the more stable one of the two.”
“Robert more or less imprisoned him for years in solitary,” said Mozart. “That’s enough to make anyone crazy.”
“What did he mean when he said you could be as powerful as him if you took it from her?” I asked. “Take what?”
“Sophie and I share the same life. By nature, I suppose, Jekylls are givers and Hydes are takers. I just naturally have more of our life than she does. It’s why I’m bigger and stronger. But I’m always careful I don’t take too much from her. My granddad got greedy, took too much and upset the balance. Which is why Jekyll killed them both.”
“And Stephen did the same thing to Robert?”
“More even.” Claire shook her head. “Look, I’d be the first one to say that Robert is an arsehole, but right now he’s barely more than Stephen’s puppet.”
“So why did he turn back to Robert?” I asked.
“Maybe to get you to stop punching him,” said Henri.
“Could be,” said Claire. “I also wonder if Stephen actually can’t be out for long. Like if he took any more Robert, Robert would die, and take Stephen with him.”
“I still want to know what the whole thing was about, though,” said Mozart. “Robert made it pretty easy for me to find him. I assumed it was because he was barely functional, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Robert is near death and Stephen is homicidal,” I said. “I think we can still file them under barely functional.”
“Stephen may be homicidal, but I got the feeling he’d orchestrated our meeting very purposefully. I think he wanted to be found and he wanted Claire and Sophie, and maybe even Boy, to come down here to collect him.”
“Yes,” said Maria. “Why would he go through all that trouble to lure you down here, just for a street brawl?”
“Good question,” said La Perricholi. She stood in the doorway, her dress torn, her knuckles bloody, her dark eyes sparkling. “Let’s go ask him.”
“SO . . . WHY DO you have a jail in your basement?” I asked La Perricholi as she led Claire, Mozart, Henri, and me down a set of stone steps.
“Some of my predecessors used it to temporarily house criminals before turning them over to the police,” La Perricholi said.
“So there was some truth to that Batman comment, then?” asked Claire.
“Predecessors,” said La Perricholi. “I am no lapdog of the government.”
“Of course not!” said Henri. He still had that same awed expression he’d had when she’d saved him from the wild pig people. Not that I blamed him. She was beautiful and awesome in that classic badass chick kind of way. But I had a feeling Vi wouldn’t be pleased.
“Here we are,” said La Perricholi.
It was a decent-sized room with a bed, table, and chair. There was also a sink and a little toilet in the corner. If you ignored the fact that the entire room was enclosed by thick metal bars, it looked almost like a hotel room.
Not that Robert was enjoying it. He lay in the bed with his eyes closed. His nose and wrist were bandaged and he had an IV attached to a saline drip. He had beads of sweat on his forehead and his breath came in harsh grunts.
“He refused pain medication,” said La Perricholi.
“Why?” asked Claire.
“I needed to be clearheaded for this conversation,” said Robert quietly.
“So winding up here, beat to hell and at our mercy, was all part of your master plan, huh?” asked Mozart.
“My plan was to drink myself to death,” said Robert.
“But that’s not part of Stephen’s plan,” said Claire.
“No, it’s not,” said Robert. He stared at her for a moment. “Can you . . . bring Sophie out? I . . . want to see my sister.”
“No,” said Claire, her voice hard. “I don’t think I will. She doesn’t want to talk to you, anyway.”
“Oh,” he said.
“Out with it then, Jekyll,” said La Perricholi. “You’ve got us all here. What message do you have from your brother?”
“It wasn’t supp
osed to happen like this,” said Robert. “Stephen and I were sent here to find allies, not make enemies. But Stephen decided to test you first, to make sure you were worthy.”
“Worthy of what?” asked Mozart. “Who sent you?”
A smile appeared on Robert’s bruised, split lip.
“Dr. Moreau.”
Henri was looking at me and Claire, probably hoping someone would fill him in. I didn’t even know Moreau was a real person. I could tell by Claire’s expression that she didn’t, either. La Perricholi’s face was a mask of smoldering cool, which seemed to be her default for everything. But Mozart looked like he’d just been slapped.
“Mozart?” I asked. “Do you know Dr. Moreau?”
“Heard of him,” said Mozart. “But . . .” He shook his head. “No, it’s impossible. Even if . . .” He turned to Robert. “You’re lying.”
“Moreau is alive and free from his imprisonment.” Robert turned to La Perricholi. “Those pig men that were with me were not the wild pig people of Brazil. They were created by Moreau and sent with me and Stephen to assist in recruiting you.”
“Recruiting us for what?” said Claire.
“Moreau must tell you that himself,” said Robert.
“And I suppose you’re going to take us to see him on the secret, invisible Noble’s Isle?” asked Mozart.
“It’s not a secret any longer,” said Robert. “Stephen and I found it. We discovered a way to reverse the invisibility effect that cloaked the island. We set Moreau free.”
“Okay, Wolfie, start talking,” said Claire.
“I’ll tell you what I know,” said Mozart. “Keep in mind, this all went down in 1890 or so. Werewolves age slower than humans, but not that slow. So everything I have is secondhand. The way Laurellen tells it, Moreau was this human who lived out on a tiny island in the Pacific where he conducted all kinds of biology experiments. He would cut up animals, still alive, combine them with other animals or sometimes even humans, and sew them back together in new and grotesque ways.”
“He was making his own monsters?” I asked.
“Apparently. Of course, the whole thing blew up in his face. The creatures went feral, killed his assistant and nearly killed him. But shortly after that, he met Ruthven and Kemp. I think they had some idea that he could be a bridge between monsters and humans. They worked together for a while, but then I guess they had some kind of big disagreement. Laurellen was a little vague on the details, but whatever Moreau did, it nearly blew our whole secret. Ruthven and Kemp were able to put a stop to it. But they had to decide what to do about Moreau.”
“They should have killed him,” said La Perricholi.
“I’m surprised they didn’t,” said Mozart. “Ruthven’s never been shy about that. Whatever Moreau did, it must not have been all that bad or else there were mitigating circumstances. In any case, instead of killing him, they stranded him on his island and cloaked the whole thing in invisibility.”
“Like The Commune,” I said.
“They didn’t want some human to accidentally come across the island and give Moreau a lift back to civilization.”
“Let me get this right,” said Claire. “So this island has been sitting out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for over a hundred years and nobody knew about it?”
“It’s a small island. Probably less than twenty miles long. But here’s the question.” He turned back to Robert. “Even if you found it, and if you somehow reversed the invisibility—something I don’t think even Kemp knows how to do—even then, how could Moreau possibly be alive? He must have been in his fifties when they imprisoned him. That would make him about a hundred and seventy-five years old now. He may have been brilliant, but in the end, he was only human.”
“Moreau will have to be the one to explain that as well,” said Robert.
“You really think we will follow you blindly across the sea to an unknown island that might contain a hostile presence?” said La Perricholi.
“I swear to you he’s not your enemy!” said Robert. “He’s asking for your help.”
“Help with what?” asked Mozart. “In light of everything else, it’s a little hard to trust you when you won’t even tell us what this is all about.”
“I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. Please, you must believe me. Only Moreau himself can explain it all to you.”
“Then he should have come himself,” said La Perricholi.
“His work is at a crucial stage right now. He could not leave it, even for a day. But he needs your help now so he asked me to beg you to come to him. He didn’t know Stephen would warp the request into an excuse for violence.”
Mozart looked at La Perricholi. “Noble’s Isle is practically on your doorstep. The Perricholi order have any intel about Moreau?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of the place. But Maria might know something.”
“Okay, you talk to her. I’m going to contact Ruthven.” He turned back to Robert. “Then we’ll decide if we’re going to help out this Dr. Moreau of yours.”
MOZART INSISTED ON talking to Ruthven alone, which I thought was a little weird. While he went off to do that, the rest of us followed La Perricholi down a long hallway to another wing of the house.
“Henri,” said La Perricholi as we crossed an intersecting hallway. “Can you go tell Maria what we’ve learned and ask her to meet us in the gym?”
Henri’s eyes lit up, like he was thrilled to be getting an assignment from her. “Of course, La Perricholi.”
She pointed down the side passageway. “Follow this to a staircase. Go up a flight and out the double doors. She should be out in the garden.”
He nodded and practically ran down the hallway.
Once he was out of sight, she turned to me and Claire. “Good, that will keep him out from underfoot for a little while. Now, it’s time the two of you had some proper combat training.” Then she turned abruptly and continued down the hallway.
“Uh, why is that?” I asked as Claire and I followed behind her.
“What Stephen said is true. You have power, but no training. You beat him with luck and rage. You can’t count on either of those to last. If we decide to go to this island, we should be ready for anything. This whole thing could be an elaborate trap.”
I DECIDED THAT I’d been wrong about this house being as big as Villa Diodati. Now I was pretty sure it was even bigger. Because the Frankensteins didn’t have their own private gym. It was about the size of a basketball court. There was a large mat area in the center. Along the sides were weights, a treadmill, and other machines that looked more like torture devices than fitness equipment.
“Here.” La Perricholi tossed us each a small, tied bundle of clothes. “These should fit you. Or close enough.”
I opened mine up. Inside was a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Why do you happen to have workout clothes in both our sizes?”
“Maria used to teach self-defense classes,” said La Perricholi. “She insisted that her students learn their form in nonrestrictive clothes, but some of her students couldn’t afford to buy new clothes. So she required all students to wear this uniform that she provided. There are still plenty in the back. Now suit up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Claire and I spent the next hour getting our asses kicked by La Perricholi. I tried to point out that I was actually still pretty sore and recovering from injuries, but that only seemed to make her want to hurt me more.
Claire gradually started to pick up on some of it. Each failure seemed to sharpen her focus, make her more determined. By the end of her time at the mat she was blocking a lot of La Perricholi’s attacks and even connecting a few of her own.
But after I got knocked down for about the hundredth time, it was clear I wasn’t getting any of it.
“Okay, I’m done.” My ribs ached as I picked myself up off t
he floor once again. “You proved your point. You’re awesome, I suck.”
“What kind of attitude is that?” demanded La Perricholi. Her uniform T-shirt was drenched in sweat and her tan face was flushed red. “Come again.”
“No seriously,” I said. “Claire is the jock, I’m the nerd. This really isn’t my thing.”
“So you’re just giving up? Are you so lazy?”
“I’m just practical. I’m not athletic or even remotely coordinated. I’m never going to get this stuff. It’s a waste of both our time.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned to Claire. “Can you talk some sense into him?”
“Hardly ever.”
La Perricholi muttered something under her breath in Spanish that I’m pretty sure had the word chucha in it. Then she turned back to Claire.
“Fine, let’s go again.”
As La Perricholi and Claire started beating on each other some more, I noticed Henri and Maria standing in the doorway. Henri still watched La Perricholi like a lost puppy. I had a feeling he was out of luck, because she really hadn’t shown much interest in him. Then again, I wondered if she had interest in anything other than beating the crap out of people.
“Hey,” I said as I walked over to them. “I guess I’m not cut out for crime fighting or whatever.”
“La Perricholi is an excellent warrior,” said Maria, “but she still has much to learn about sharing her skill with others.”
“She said you used to hold classes here?” I asked.
Maria nodded. “It was at a time when the Shining Path, a group of militant Communists, held this country in a grip of fear. The terror they caused was matched only by the terror caused by the government itself. When the two clashed, the people were often caught in the middle. I could not turn them all into warriors, but I sought to give them at least enough knowledge to keep them alive.”
“I had a feeling I’d find everybody here,” came Mozart’s voice from the hallway. He stepped into the room and watched the fight lesson for a moment. “Looks promising.”
“Yes,” said Maria. Then for some reason she looked over at me. Maybe I was supposed to feel guilty for quitting.
