I do not know what waits for you out there. But, Sofia? I know what lives within you. I will put my hope in that. Now, you have work to do.
“What work?” I asked.
First, you must create one last entry in the Bestiary. Entropion must be documented for future generations. And then you must find a way to overcome him and the power of his lies.
I suddenly realized I was now part of history. The thing about history, though?
Everyone’s dead.
Wednesday, March 5
Ms. Hochness was sipping a cup of coffee when I hustled into the library the next morning. I had fifteen minutes until the first bell. Nothing else had come to my window last night, not even a moth, and Xeno hadn’t said any more either. I had begged Mom to do me a favor later today, but I didn’t know yet if she would come through.
I threw my book bag on a table and went to the row of books Ms. Hochness had shown me earlier.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” she asked.
“I think I missed something,” I called to her. “I need to know more about Alexander the Great and his mother.”
I grabbed the dictionary that sat next to the computers and looked up the Es while she gathered a few books and carried them to a table. “Entropion: from the Greek word ‘entropia,’ meaning ‘a turning inward against oneself.’ ” “Entropion” also described a medical condition affecting the eyes. So Entropion was created by the part of me that had turned against myself, the way I saw myself.
“You’re working on a special project?” she called as she pulled books for me.
I looked up. Our eyes met and I nodded. “Very special.”
She got my meaning. This was important.
She motioned for me to stand, and when I did, she took my place in front of the computer.
“I’ll rummage around in the university’s database. Sometimes they upload research articles. It’s good stuff.”
“Thanks,” I said. I immediately sat at the table, opened one of the books, and dug in.
Fifteen minutes later, I had discovered nothing new. I dropped my head onto the book, groaning. There had to be something on how to stop a monster like Entropion, and Olympias probably held the only clue. Sucking in a deep breath, I sat up and went at it again. If I knew what sort of rituals she used, or magic she practiced, maybe I could find her weakness too. But it seemed like people had hated and feared her so much they’d been afraid to write about her.
By the time the bell rang, nothing new had turned up, and my shoulders hurt from bending over the books.
“Cool beans!” Ms. Hochness yelled.
I jumped up and made my way over to her. “No one says that anymore, Ms. Hochness.”
“I just did.” She smirked, hitting a button on her keyboard with a flourish. I arched one eyebrow.
She grinned. “An academic piece that someone at the teaching hospital was working on,” she said. Behind her, the printer whirred to life. “It’s not even finished,” she continued. “I’m shocked that a professional would upload anything before it’s finished.”
I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted it.
The tardy bell rang.
I grabbed my book bag, then snatched the two pages from the printer. The second hand on the wall clock swept around again.
“Last one,” Ms. Hochness said.
“Thank you!” I yelled, grabbing it from her as I hustled, making it to homeroom just in front of Ms. Forester, who was carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She tsked at me for brushing past her so fast. I apologized, but secretly I was pleased. It meant I was getting faster.
After I settled into my seat, I pulled out my textbook and laid the papers from the library over it. The little writing at the top of the page didn’t catch my eye at first.
I had to reread the front page twice before it really sank in.
The Mysterious Death of Aristotle and His Last Student
By Dr. Inez Capistrano
I stared at the name in disbelief, vaguely aware that Ms. Forester was passing out a pop quiz on bathroom etiquette. Apparently, the janitors were refusing to clean the boys’ bathrooms unless the boys learned some basic skills, like how to put paper towels in a waste basket. And aiming, I suppose.
The tiny time stamp at the top of Dr. Capistrano’s paper showed when it was uploaded into the system. It read 4:36 a.m.
And today’s date. So at 4:36 a.m. this morning, just a few hours ago, in the middle of the night, Dr. Capistrano had uploaded it, before it was even finished. But why?
The paper began,
In investigating the history of Aristotle, in hopes of verifying the legend of his last student, Xeno, and reported sightings of a book popularly referred to as the Bestiary, a scholar must be able to separate fact from fiction. Fiction, however, would surely offer scholars a better story, because fiction holds the promise of a happy ending.
As I have tonight learned, there can be no happy ending for the student who possesses the Bestiary. The book is cursed and should never have been opened again.
I am sorry I could be of no further help, but I have chosen to move on to safer subjects.
May the one who reads this take every precaution.
Ms. Forester grabbed my book and shut it. She then tapped her finger on the pop quiz now in front of me on my desk.
I was going to pass this quiz, but the bigger question was, what else was I going to fail, and who would pay the price?
After school, Mom turned out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of Dr. Capistrano’s office.
I cleared my throat so I wouldn’t sound too anxious. “Thanks again for getting an appointment.”
“I didn’t. No one answered the phone,” she replied. “We’ll just stop by and see if she can fit you in.”
It was hard to tell if she was still frustrated with me or just really tired. Either way, this was not the moment to confess that I had helped create a super-monster that just might try to eat us both. Sometimes, I told myself, good relationships are all about timing.
Mom turned up the volume on the radio, listening to a report on a new variety of drug-resistant, flesh-eating bacteria. Besides, I thought, she has enough of her own monsters to deal with.
Mom glanced into the rearview mirror and pulled to the right. A police car zoomed past, lights flashing and sirens screaming.
We watched it take the same turn we were about to make toward Dr. Capistrano’s office. A bad feeling deep in my bones grew stronger. The doctor had uploaded that paper at 4:36 a.m., but it hadn’t been finished. Why couldn’t she wait? What had she discovered? Had Entropion interrupted her?
I reviewed the paper in my mind one more time. The facts were simple. But the meaning escaped me. I knew enough from history to remember that Alexander the Great was still considered a military hero. But not many people knew about his mother. Bile flooded my mouth as I read on; Olympias was believed to practice a dark, evil magic, and snakes were said to be her closest companions. In fact, she told Alexander that he had been fathered by Zeus, who came to her one night in the form of a snake. That’s why Alexander was worshipped as a god. And during his travels, he sent letters to Aristotle, detailing all he had discovered, so he had contact with his former teacher for years. Dr. Capistrano added one last note:
Here the historical record ends, and we must imagine what other letters Aristotle received. If indeed a student had discovered fierce and terrible creatures in the new world, Alexander would not be able to force his troops to march upon them. The men would have been too terrified. And if Alexander as a god was not able to defeat a monster, he would be revealed as a fraud and failure. Alexander would have faced a difficult decision, to either send his men to their death or he himself die in dishonor.
And then suddenly, Alexander the Great, the god, was dead. Some believe he was poisoned. Some believe that he had epilepsy and tried unsuccessfully to hide it, lest his men see him as weak.
Olympias went mad with grief an
d surely must have craved revenge. Some wonder if Olympias blamed Aristotle for her son’s death. We will never know, but within a year, Aristotle was found dead, then all his books mysteriously disappeared. Forever.
Legend holds that Aristotle’s last student, Xeno, saved a book documenting the existence of monstrous creatures, but no trace of him or the book has ever been seen. The last student who so dearly loved the truth has become a legend.
And legends do not die. They are extinguished, often violently, in the name of progress.
Dr. Capistrano’s paper ended abruptly with that detail. The sirens continued to race past us as an ambulance rushed toward the highway exit ramp.
Crime scene tape stretched across the entrance to Dr. Capistrano’s building. A police van blocked my view of the doors, and four police cars were parked in front, their lights silently swirling. Dozens of people in uniform walked around with walkie-talkies.
Mom slowed the car and reached for my hand, finally stopping at the end of the street. Neither of us spoke.
A news van sped around the corner and raced right to the edge of the tape. A woman with a perfectly styled helmet of hair jumped out, a cameraman following. She tried to get a police officer to talk to her, but he gestured for her to back up and get out.
The police didn’t want anyone knowing what had happened inside.
“Wait here,” Mom said, getting out and walking away before I could argue.
Pressing a hand to my mouth, I rocked back and forth in the seat.
When Mom got back to the car, she opened the door and slid in, locking the doors and checking the mirrors. She cleared her throat and put the car in reverse.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Dr. Capistrano is dead,” Mom said. She glanced in the rearview mirror, then sideways at me.
It felt like a block of ice had crashed into my chest.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
“What happened?” I asked again.
She stopped at a red light, knuckles white, wrapped around the steering wheel.
“Mom. Please.”
“It’s better not to know.”
“You can’t protect me from this,” I said.
She turned to look at me, and frowned. “Yes, I can,” she said.
The light turned green but she didn’t press the gas pedal. Her eyes were glazed over.
The car behind us honked twice, startling us both. Mom floored it and I jerked back in my seat. The city became a smudge, a blur racing across my window, trees whipping past, houses looming and then shrinking, people weaving in and out of focus.
Mom shook her head, as if giving up, and spoke quickly. “Dr. Capistrano’s first patient this morning found the office door torn off its hinges. The police found a sweater that had been slashed to bits,” she said. “They think, when the doctor came in to work, her murderer was waiting.”
I swallowed down the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Entropion had been there.
Mom shook her head. “Plus…the police found a cooler with a leg in it.” She glanced at me again and reached a hand out to rest it on my thigh. “Not a body. Just a leg. I am so sorry to have to tell you this.”
I sighed in relief. That leg didn’t mean Dr. Capistrano was dead. She’d uploaded that paper to warn me that she was getting out of this before Entropion got to her.
I settled down into the seat to think. Mom looked angry. “Sofia, you’ve watched too much TV. This is reality, not make-believe. A woman has lost her life.”
“I’m just trying to understand it,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie.
Dr. Capistrano was the only person who knew my secret, and now she had fled, probably forever, because of the dangers. I should have obeyed Xeno and kept my mouth shut. Thankfully, I hadn’t said anything to my mom. Now I was certain I had to carry this burden alone.
All I could do was wait for Olympias’s next move. If I asked anyone for help, they would get hurt. Olympias wanted me to give up being the Guardian and let the monsters die. Xeno wanted me to keep the monsters alive until the world needed them. But neither of them had really answered the most basic question: why me? Did they think I was powerful because I survived cancer? That had been a battle, true, but I hadn’t really won. Cancer had taken my leg and could still return for the rest of me. Every day, it took other kids, ones who really were brave and strong. Heroes are supposed to defeat the enemy, not just stay alive. If Xeno and Olympias expected the most powerful Guardian in history, they had picked the wrong kid. I knew how to fight, but I didn’t know how to win.
Only Entropion knew I wasn’t a hero. He knew the shame and fear I carried, because he was born from those foul thoughts, a secret truth that he and I shared. But Xeno was teaching me about the other truths that shape the world. One thing was clear: the truth could be a tool to build or a weapon to destroy.
Everything depended on the one who wielded it.
Thursday, March 6
Facing my own possible death, I knew the only logical next step was to go to the mall.
Mom had insisted I keep my shopping date with Candy the next day. Because that was “normal” and would be good for me, she promised, after the shock of hearing about Dr. Capistrano. I wasn’t too worried about the doctor. I hoped she had made her escape safely; I just didn’t know if I would.
I left fifth period early as planned and headed down the empty hallway to the front office to meet Candy. In the music room, the chamber choir was practicing a classical song with lots of long, high notes that gave me the chills. As I glanced down the opposite hall, a door at the end of it slowly closed, hinges squeaking like a haunted-house sound track. The choir continued chanting.
Something small and white floated past my head, and I brushed at it instinctively. A little clump of Styrofoam clung to my bandana, so I picked it off for inspection. I gazed at it, frowning, until I realized it was a piece of the ceiling tile. I snapped my head up to see the tiles shake and warp as something crawled above them.
Panicking, I walked as fast as I could to the office. My stump burned as it chafed against the prosthesis, but I didn’t care. Moments like this were the reason I didn’t feel guilty for skipping my rehab exercises. I got a good workout just trying to stay alive each day.
Candy smiled when she saw me swing the door open.
“Ready?” she asked. Before I could reply, she handed me a huge stack of books. “Can you put these in your bag? I only brought a purse today.”
“I didn’t know you studied so much,” I said, struggling to adjust my stance under the load, the top book threatening to spill over.
“I don’t,” she said. “I just have to look like I do, to keep my dad off my back.”
She turned to finish signing her check-out card. Her mom waved to us through the office windows as she stood beside her SUV.
The top book slid to the right, and I thrust my hips to the side to catch it. I couldn’t carry all these without dropping one. I decided to adjust the stack, and set everything on the counter.
I opened my book bag to see if there was any room.
“Hey, Sofia. Hey, Candy.” Alexis stood there watching me, a bottle of Pamprin in her hand. Girls could keep it in the nurse’s office for their period if their parents approved.
Alexis stuffed the Pamprin in her pocket. “What are you doing?” she asked.
I just stood there, mute.
“We’re going shopping,” Candy said, stepping closer to me. “I’m giving Sofia a makeover.”
Alexis looked at me like I had just kicked her grandmother in the crotch. “Seriously?” she said.
“Sofia, we better go,” Candy said. “My aunt is waiting. I can’t wait to try on the dresses she picked out.” She acted like Alexis wasn’t even in the room.
Alexis glanced again between me and Candy, then frowned. She was judging me.
Alexis always used to worry that she might not ever get her period
, especially because of all the running she did. What if she never got curves, she said, and was always as skinny as a stick? Getting her period was hugely important to her. She wanted her body to change so maybe her sister wouldn’t resent her anymore.
Turns out Alexis kept secrets from me too. She had gotten her period and never told me, and who knew when it had happened? Maybe when we were still talking, even. Everyone kept something hidden, even Alexis, but it felt like I was the only one being pushed out of the shadows. It wasn’t fair.
“Sofia,” Candy snapped, “we’re wasting valuable shopping time.”
Alexis’s face clouded over again, darker this time.
“I can’t wait,” I replied, and followed Candy out.
As for Alexis? Our friendship was officially dead. I knew I should be sad, maybe even devastated, but mainly I was relieved. It’s weird how someone can be so important to you that sometimes it’s easier to let go than to hold on. If everything had to change, I guessed my friends would too.
Everywhere I looked, headless women were frozen in unnatural poses. Some had heads, but then their faces were all white, no eyes or mouth, nothing to tell any of them apart. I wanted to enjoy the mall, especially since I didn’t have to pay for the dress I was going to get. Everyone loves free, right? But I had never noticed how creepy mannequins were, maybe because I had always been double-checking how much cash I had. The worst feeling in the world was not having enough money when you were at the register and adults were in line behind you, tapping their feet impatiently.
Candy’s aunt, Mrs. Baker, had a whole rack of dresses already selected for us to try on. They were gorgeous. I lifted the tag on one that caught my eye. Black, mid-length, form-fitting to create some serious curves. It was $355. I dropped the tag.
“Don’t be silly, Sofia, that one is for me,” Candy said. She pushed it farther down on the rack, separating the dresses into two sections. “It wouldn’t work for you anyway. Not with…just trust me.”
The Last Monster Page 16
