Monstrous

by MarcyKate Connolly

  She skitters back, looking wildly about for another route to escape. “Don’t touch me,” she cries. “He can’t have me.”

  “I am sorry, but that is exactly why you must stay.” My tail swings out and stings her in the arm. Father was right; they never understand what we do for them. She slumps to the ground, but I sting her other arm for good measure. She must have woken up early in order to get loose like that, so I suspect a stronger dose is necessary until we can get her to Belladoma and true safety.

  I scoop her up and take her back to the tower. Scratches and peck marks cover her body. I will have to ask Father for a healing salve. The poor thing had no idea what she was doing.

  But what I do not understand is why the goat-chickens attacked her. What did she do to provoke them?

  I set her down in one of the four beds in the tower room, tucking a blanket around her limp body. When I reach the yard again, Father hovers over my latest retrieval.

  “Ah, there you are, girl. What happened out here?” Father gestures to the torn-up front yard and the wandering chickens.

  I frown. “I am not sure. When I arrived home, I found last night’s girl running around the yard with the chickens chasing her and making a horrible noise. I had to sting her—twice!”

  Father rubs his chin. “Hmm. We shall have to be more careful. Perhaps you should dose them more often, just to be safe. Bring this one inside, and then we will have to round up the chickens.”

  “Of course, Father.” I pick up the red-haired girl, then pause. “Why would she try to leave?”

  He puts a hand on my back between my wings and guides me toward the tower. “She wanted to return to Bryre, no doubt.”

  My brow furrows. “But why would she want to go back to where the wizard held her captive?” Indeed this seems quite at odds with her words.

  “She has family there, my dear. And love of one’s family can make people do the most incredible things.”

  I smile. “Like bringing your daughter back to life?”

  “Exactly. But in this girl’s case, we must do what we can to protect her from herself. She must not return to Bryre until we have stopped the wizard. We cannot expect the girls to always understand, but we must help them anyway.”

  Pride swells in my chest and buoys me up the stairs. Yes, we have a noble purpose. The humans may not understand now, but one day they will see how much we do for them.

  I lay the girl in her bed and tuck her in just like I did for the one who got loose. That girl’s pecked-up arms remind me of another lingering question.

  “Father, why would the chickens attack her?”

  He shrugs. “I cannot say for certain. But I would guess she tried to climb over the hedge by the chicken coop. Sometimes the best route can be the least obvious one, but not in her case I am afraid. She must have given them quite a start. They probably thought she was a fox.”

  I brush a wayward lock of mussed-up brown hair from the runaway girl’s face. “Poor thing. At least the chickens alerted us. I might not have come home so quickly had I not heard them screeching from the woods.”

  “Yes, that is lucky. I am afraid I am too sound a sleeper for my own good sometimes. And my old body cannot rise from bed so fast anymore.”

  I take his arm and we retreat down the staircase. “Do not worry, Father. I will keep an ear out for them in case they sound the alarm again.”

  He pats my hand. “I know you will. I can always depend upon you, my dear.”

  DAY SEVENTEEN

  I HAVE NO TROUBLE GETTING INTO THE CITY NOW. I CAN CLOSE MY EYES and see it laid out before me. The twists and turns of the map have become raised and ridged planes instead. On my mental map, a red dot hovers.

  The palace. I have not yet set eyes on it, but I know where it lies. Tonight, I will find it. And I will fetch another girl.

  This afternoon, I read a tale that brought Bryre’s palace to mind. A lonely princess locked in a tower for her own protection, trapped by her parents’ fears of a giant. It seems even giants need brides, and this one—a mean, nasty brute—wanted a royal one. They built her a tower so high that the giant could not reach her, but they always feared he would come back. She was perfectly safe—and miserable—until one day she found a way out, and snuck into the main palace during a masquerade ball. There was a handsome prince and dancing and roses, and of course they fell in love. They eloped, but on their wedding night, her groom transformed—into that giant.

  Strange how her seeming freedom turned out to be everything she had been raised to fear and hate.

  I set out on my usual path through Bryre’s streets and alleys, but then veer west. Inspired by the tale, the hidden part of my memory conjures up all sorts of grand things at the word palace. Gold, marble, peacocks, coins, jewels. Images swirl in my brain, just out of reach. I need to see them for myself.

  I must be extra careful not to disturb the king or his court. I doubt they would take kindly to me poking around. But I will be cautious. If I am caught, I will simply put them all to sleep.

  Besides, I only want to see it for a few minutes. I suspect they have a beautiful garden, even bigger than the one Father made for me. If I love my simple roses, how much more will I delight in royal ones?

  I keep to the dark corners of the unfamiliar alleys. While I could take out any guards, I prefer to avoid them altogether. Soon, I smell something new. The city has a scent all its own, but it is earthy and musky. This is . . . spicy. Sweet. Fragrant.

  I must be getting near.

  My breath quickens. I move faster.

  Moments later I see the gates, curled wrought iron rising to meet the tops of the trees. Two guards patrol the perimeter, and I suspect more wait in the guardhouse nearby. I halt, keeping to the shadows. Then another scent intrudes: bread baking, dusted with cinnamon.

  The boy I saw the other day smelled just like that. I drop into a crouch, becoming one with the shadow of the building I hide behind. I close my eyes and let my ears take over. Footsteps. Fast ones. The boy is running right this way. My heart stutters. Why would he come here?

  He moves swiftly past my hiding place and stops at the end of the alley, remaining out of the guards’ sight line. He glances around furtively and presses two bricks into the wall. To my shock, a hidden door opens and he slips inside.

  The wall begins to close behind him, but I lunge forward and pry it open wide enough to step through. My curiosity increases by the second. I must know where he is going. The walls are smooth on either side, with an empty torch holder at the front. I slide my cat’s eyes into place and tiptoe down the dark stone hallway. It slants down for a time, then suddenly slopes back up. My skin tingles with a strange sense of recognition.

  A sudden faintness stops me in my tracks and I press my hand against the wall to steady myself. In my head, I hear the sounds of laughter and feet pounding the dirt of the tunnel. The shadows of two figures bounce along the walls as they run. The scene lasts for only a moment, but it leaves an unsettling feeling in its wake.

  For reasons I cannot explain, I am certain this takes us right underneath the gates of the palace. My heart thrums in my chest. Who is this strange boy, out after curfew with access to secret passages? And where did I see a passage like this before?

  The sound of stone scraping against stone echoes down the corridor. The boy has exited the tunnel. I sprint to the end and slowly push the barrier open. Claws at the ready, I edge out into the night and flatten my back against the wall of what I believe is the far side of the guardhouse.

  The courtyard is immense, filled with the wonderful aromas I caught on the wind earlier. Roses and other flowers paint rainbows across the yard. Rows of tulips are closed up tightly for the evening, but the night-blooming primroses and moonflowers blossom in a full array of delicate yellow, pink, and white. I want to touch and smell them all and forever fix them in my memory, but now that I am not alone I force myself to be cautious. Perhaps I can come back here another night and take more time with them.


  A path edged by fragrant purple four-o’clocks leads to a long, fancy building at the far end. Both building and path are lined by sculpted hedges in all sorts of fantastical shapes and sizes. A girl with a fish tail, a man’s torso on a horse’s body, a winged horse—I stare, transfixed. They are like the skeletons hanging in Father’s laboratory, but fleshed out in foliage. They are like me. They are hybrids.

  They are beautiful.

  Perhaps, one day, there will be a sculpture of me here for saving the girls from the wizard.

  A creak echoes down the path, and my focus sharpens. The boy opens a door in the side of the palace, likely one used by servants. I sneak closer, bounding from hedge creature to hedge creature to stay hidden.

  As I near the side door, I hesitate to listen for the guards. I can sense them outside the gates, unaware that a boy and a girl have snuck past them. Still, my growing uneasiness about the palace does not abate. That strange vision with its disconcerting familiarity has only made it worse. Something is wrong here.

  I follow the boy through the servants’ door. Shadows hang in the air, covering the fine tapestries on the walls and alcoves. If I did not know better, I would think I had the wrong palace. This one is deserted. I tune in to the boy’s footfalls and slink down the marble corridor, enveloped by the welcoming darkness. He takes turn after turn as though he knows where he is going. I am perplexed.

  Who is this boy? And what can he be doing? He cannot be here to enjoy the garden as I am, but I hear no telltale noises of thievery. He has not touched a thing. He walks with confidence through the halls. I cannot smell other people, nor hear the normal sounds of life or even slumber that I expected.

  When the sound of his steps cease, I approach with even more caution. I must get close enough to see what he is about. Otherwise, I will be up for days burning with curiosity. I come to an ornate doorway, and peek inside. Two carved marble thrones sit on a dais at the front of the room. The marble hall is dark, save the beams of moonlight shafting in through the high windows. I imagine long tables overflowing with food and wine, and people in beautiful costumes dancing and laughing before a regal king and queen, just like they did in the story I read this afternoon.

  Tonight there is only the boy. And me, spying on him.

  He approaches the dais, but kneels at the bottom step. Decorative roses are carved into the marble edge, and he presses the second to last one on the left. It sinks into the rim. A marble panel slides out of the step base, startling me. The boy pauses for a moment and I pray he did not hear me jump. I hold my breath and count to ten, waiting for his alarm to pass.

  He takes something out of his cloak—a slip of paper—and places it in the hidden compartment. When he pushes it back in, a click echoes in the hall, much louder in the emptiness than it should be.

  This boy knows secrets about the palace.

  I vanish into my corner, covering my face with my hood. He must not see me at all. But I cannot help peeking a little.

  The boy takes off down another passage. I marvel again at the complete absence of people. The gardens are well cared for; someone must live here. Father never said a word about the city no longer having a king. My misgivings curl around me like a cloak.

  Maybe the paper the boy left will shed some light on this mystery. As his footfalls grow fainter, I leave my shadows and creep across the huge ballroom to the dais and the thrones.

  A slow smile inches across my face. I have never encountered a place quite like this. At least, not that I remember. I wonder if my past self ever visited the palace. That might explain the odd feeling I had in the tunnel. Did I love it as much as I do now? The shadows and marble and moonlight make for an extraordinary combination. And the garden!

  But I must focus. If I am wrong and this place is not as empty as I believe, I could be caught at any moment. I hurry to repeat the motions the boy made to open the panel in the bottom step. When it slides out, I snatch the paper.

  More girls sick. K suspects wizard. Will remain where he is. More guards.

  My heart flutters. This boy is delivering a message—about my own mission. I sit on the steps, reading it again and again until I can recite the words by heart. Father will want to know about this. If the boy took such pains to hide it, it must be important.

  The question is, who is he delivering the message to in an empty palace?

  I run a clawed finger over the marble veins in the steps when I am overcome with a wave of dizziness and light. A child’s laughter echoes in my ears, and sun spills onto the floor instead of moonlight. A golden-haired little girl, so clear, swings in front of my eyes as though we dance together. She bows, and the vision vanishes.

  I return the paper to its hiding place and push the panel back with trembling hands. What is that child doing in my head? Who is she? And why does this odd protective urge linger in my chest?

  The moon is higher in the sky—it is getting late. I must rescue a girl and return to Father before dawn breaks. I sneak back through the halls, fearing guards will descend any second.

  But without the mysterious boy’s footsteps to guide me, I take a wrong turn and end up in a long, wide hallway. Huge, crooked portraits line the walls for as far as I can see in the darkness. Pieces of the marble floor are cracked and stick up at odd angles like some creature tried to burst through. Chills ripple over me, as I realize the walls have holes too, and from them dark twisting roots creep to the floor, leaving whole sections in rubble.

  What happened here?

  Whatever it was, and whatever this is, it must have something to do with why the palace seems all but abandoned.

  The urge to run is overwhelming. I backtrack through the halls as quickly as possible. Finally, I reach the garden and its wondrous flowers and hedges. I attempt to gain entrance to the tunnels the same way the boy left them, but all my efforts come to naught. The wall of the guardhouse is frustratingly unmoving. I patiently track the guards’ patrol, then leap over the palace walls when they are out of sight. I take off at a run to the prison and I am almost at the cherub fountain when a voice calls out.

  “Hey! You there!” I stumble at the sight of the boy at a crossroads. Luckily, my tail is curled around my thigh and does not slip out. Fear fills every muscle in my body, freezing me where I stand for one long torturous moment.

  His brown eyes warm and widen in surprise, and I thank my good sense that my blue eyes are in place. Messy chestnut locks ring his face, lending him a wild look.

  Instinct takes over and I bound down the road, away from the boy. He cannot see me. He cannot talk to me. Father will be furious.

  “Wait!” he calls. His feet pound after mine, but I am much faster and round the fountain first, dodging down an unfamiliar alley. This boy, however intriguing, must not know where I am headed. He could be working with the wizard for all I know.

  When his footfalls no longer trail after me, I lean against a building and catch my breath. Adrenaline leaves my legs rubbery and weak. I must be more careful. What if he saw me coming out of the palace?

  I will rest for a few more minutes, just to be sure he is gone. Then, and only then, will I resume my task.

  DAY EIGHTEEN

  WHEN I WAKE ON THE FLOOR OF THE TOWER ROOM, FATHER WAITS IN THE armchair in the corner, studying me carefully. The limp bundle of girl remains on the bed where I placed her last night. I waited a long time before fetching her and was so exhausted that I must have fallen asleep as soon as I set her down.

  “Something troubles you, my dear,” Father says.

  My face burns and I take a seat on the edge of a bed. My dreams were plagued with images of the strange boy, and the haunting vision of the little blond girl. I cannot lie. Father can see into the recesses of my mind and sense everything I know.

  “That boy,” I say, fearing his anger. “He saw me on the way to the prison. He called for me to stop.”

  Father grabs my arms. “What? How could you let someone see you? Did you speak to him?”

/>   I flinch. “I ran. I hid. He did not catch me.”

  The tension in Father’s shoulders relaxes. “Good. You are certain he did not follow you to the prison?”

  “I am certain,” I assure Father.

  “You must be careful, Kymera. If anyone else were to find the secret prison, they would be in danger, too. Only you can go in and out safely.”

  Shame slinks through my belly. For some reason, I do not like the thought of the boy getting caught by the wizard. I brush the strange feelings away as Father paces the circular room. He taps his forefinger to his chin as he often does when he thinks hard about something.

  “What I do not understand is why the boy was out after curfew. The king’s proclamation allows for no exceptions.”

  My face reddens. “I might know something, but I cannot make sense of it.”

  Father stops and stares. “Well, go on, child.”

  I clasp and unclasp my hands. They are sweaty, which strikes me as odd.

  “I am not sure the king is in power anymore.”

  “What?” The look on Father’s face makes me want to giggle. Confusion, mixed with fear and a tinge of happiness. So much conflict in the span of a mere two seconds.

  “The palace is empty.”

  “Tell me, how do you know this?” he whispers.

  “I am sorry, Father, but I had to see it for myself. All the fairy tales revolve around a palace, and after all you’ve told me of our city, I could not help it. But when I arrived, no one was there. Except that boy.” I frown, realizing how much this could upset Father. I wish I had held my tongue.

  “No one? What do you mean, no one?”

  “The only guards were at the gates, there was no heavy breathing of sleep—one of the halls even seemed to be falling apart. That boy knew secret ways in and out.” My hands quiver as the uneasiness from the night before descends again, and I clasp them together.