Monstrous

by MarcyKate Connolly

  I stare down at my twisting hands. He cannot be right about all of them. It cannot be true about that boy. He leaves me roses. He wants to know me. “Surely, they are not all bad. I am part human, too.”

  “No, my dear, they are not all bad. But the ones who strike out of fear are in the majority. Even if you found one or two who did not fear you, they would be overwhelmed by the others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Father sighs. “Let me be clear. If the humans find out what you are, they will kill you. They will hunt me down and kill me for creating you. Anyone caught sympathizing with you would be murdered as well.”

  My entire body grows cold. “Are they so vicious?”

  “Yes. They are ruthless. Stay as far from them as you can.” He cracks his book again but then closes it halfway to examine me. “You have not seen that boy again, have you?” His eyes narrow and I cannot meet them.

  “No,” I lie. “I have not.”

  Satisfied, he returns to his book and we wait for breakfast to finish cooking.

  If there was any doubt I have to hide the roses from Father, it is gone. His words tear apart my insides. I cannot believe what he said is true of the boy. If the humans caught me, I could defend myself. That is why Father gave me the claws to fight, the tail to stun, and the wings to flee.

  I want to please Father, but it is no longer the only thing I desire.

  I want to see that boy again.

  DAY TWENTY-FOUR

  IN MY BOOKS, THERE IS ALWAYS A PRINCE, AND HE ALWAYS HAPPENS upon the damsel in the most unexpected places. As I flutter between the sunbeams shafting through the forest, I cannot help but wonder if I will meet my prince here, like this. Does that boy ever wander through this forest? Could a creature like me even have a prince to call her own?

  Perhaps somewhere out there is another hybrid like me. Or maybe Father could make me a prince.

  By the time I reach the river that meanders around the edge of our woods, the sun is at the very top of the sky, smiling down at me. I usually love days like this; everything in the forest is bathed in warmth and I can drink it in. But today my unsettled thoughts hang over me like a shadow.

  Of course, this is the first time I have wandered off without a task from Father. He is away at a market, he said, foraging for the materials he needs for his experiments. He will be back by dusk, but the afternoon is mine. And I want nothing more than to read my books by the river. I settle onto an outcropping of rock that glitters in the sunlight, and crack my book.

  A yapping sound disturbs me. My keen ears perk. The sound gets louder and I scowl.

  Pippa.

  That blasted sperrier followed me.

  She bursts through the foliage, then skids to a stop, eyeing the rock I perch on warily. She growls.

  I stick out my tongue. “There is not enough room for you up here, anyway.” She paces for a few minutes, the rumbling in her tiny throat unceasing, then finally curls up near a bunch of ferns about ten yards away.

  I settle into my seat, a depression on the boulder that just fits me, and let the stories paint pictures in my mind.

  In this one, the miller’s daughter loves the king’s youngest son. Trolls and gremlins roam the land and wizards make deals, extracting promises no one can keep. Though the prince is handsome and brave, and the girl is fair, it does not end well.

  One look at the multicolored skin of my arms, and the weight of my tail curled around my leg, remind me of how different I am from the girls in these tales and the girls I save each night. Father says I am perfect, but would a prince agree if he knew what I am made of? Would he value me for the usefulness of my parts, or for the contents of my heart? Or would he only value me as a prize to slay like the monsters in the story?

  My fairy tales have shed no light on this subject.

  Father gave me them to educate me about the behavior of humans and their many odd customs. And the trickiness of wizards. In my books they never fight fair. I must be prepared when I meet my evil wizard.

  The sun has traveled a great distance in the sky. I should go soon to be sure Father does not beat me home. He might not view my newfound freedom as fondly as I do.

  But I am not quite ready to leave this place yet. I stretch out on the rock and stare up at the blue sky through a web of leaves from an overhanging tree. Everything is sunny and bright. I could bask in it forever.

  Even the rock beneath me is warm.

  And moving.

  Before I can get my bearings, I’m tossed off and roll to a stop at the base of a thick oak. I rise to my feet slowly, trying to understand what is in front of me amid Pippa’s furious yapping.

  The rock has a face. And feet.

  And teeth.

  The rock unfurls in my direction, drawing itself up into an enormous beast.

  A dragon.

  My claws unsheathe while my heart shudders against my rib cage. Heat blazes over every inch of my skin.

  It is a creature out of my fairy-tale books. I thought they were long gone from Bryre and the surrounding cities. But what I mistook for granite shining in the sun is actually gleaming scales. Sunlight flares off them in every direction, lending the beast a glowing aura. Two knobs of rock open and blink at me with pale yellow eyes. Wings, five times the size of mine at least, expand from his body and flap, sending waves in the opposite direction of the river flow.

  His head swoops down, the eyes studying me. They blink once, twice. I do my best not to breathe. The dragon could swallow me whole and not think twice about it. And still be ravenous.

  Pippa yips one last time, before she turns tail and flees into the forest. The dragon does not pay her a whit of attention.

  The giant nose sniffs the air. It presses close to my ribs and inhales. Blood rushes to my head, instinct screaming through every pore. But instinct is useless here. He would catch me before I took flight and fighting is out of the question.

  The dragon breathes out, humid air rushing over me.

  You smell odd.

  I gape at the beast. How did that voice get in my head? Did he just speak to me?

  I sniff the air; the dragon’s scent reminds me of the deep forest after a heavy rain. Dark and dank. But with a hint of metal.

  “Y-you smell odd, too,” I whisper back.

  The head rises up, above the stonelike shoulders and trees, and opens to let out a sound like boulders falling.

  Is he . . . is he laughing?

  The head returns and the pale eyes hold me in their gaze once again.

  What are you?

  My windpipe narrows to a pinhole, but somehow I manage to squeak out, “I am Kymera.”

  Ah, a chimera. I see. Part human, part bird?

  “And snake.” My tail slides out, trembling.

  The head rears back, then slowly inches forward again.

  Sister.

  The strangest feeling comes over me. Relief, as though a long search is over. But I do not believe the feeling is my own. It comes from the dragon.

  I’ve been looking for you. Your strange scent called me out.

  “Why?” I cannot fathom what a dragon would want with me in particular. But I cannot shake the feeling I got from it. Mixed in with the relief is something else. Something I feel, too. “You are lonely.”

  The giant head nods, scales glittering. He is awfully pretty, even if he does have me trapped against this tree.

  Not many like me are left. The mouth makes an awful hissing sound. Wizards.

  Hatred fills me. This time the feeling is already there, just magnified by the creature’s own. A growl escapes my mouth.

  You hate them too? The head tilts.

  “More than anything.”

  We must protect each other, sister.

  Warmth fills my chest at the mention of that word again.

  “From the wizard?” I ask.

  He hisses again. Yes. They take our blood, they take our magic.

  Chills trickle up my legs. Father mentioned dragons’ bl
ood being used in potions. What a horrid thing to do to a creature.

  “I am going to kill the wizard. It is my mission.”

  You are most unusual. If I did not know better, I would swear the dragon raised an eyebrow.

  “Thank you.” I pause, realizing I do not know what to call him. “What is your name?”

  You may call me Batu.

  “Batu,” I repeat, testing the word out loud. “It suits you.”

  His snout opens wide in what I hope is a grin. You and I, we are very alike, sister.

  Yes, we are alike. Alone and feared. And we both hate the wizard with equal ferocity.

  There is only one way to protect each other. The dragon settles back on his haunches, but his height still rivals the treetops.

  “Tell me. I will do it.” I am drawn to this majestic creature who has named me kin, who has also suffered at the hands of wizards. Surely Father would approve—he has done what he can to protect many hybrids. Protecting a dragon is just as worthy a cause.

  A blood oath. Together we will be stronger. Batu punctures the paw of his front foot with a claw. Shimmering blue blood beads between the scales. I do the same, but yelp at the pain in my hand. My blood is red, and does not shimmer as the dragon’s does. I am somewhat disappointed by this.

  Batu holds up his huge paw.

  Place your hand on my paw, and when our blood mingles, it is done.

  I do not understand how this will protect us, but I am not well versed in the ways of dragons. I confess, mostly I am just relieved it does not want to eat me.

  Still, this creature stirs up something primal, a need hovering just below the surface of my mind.

  I place my hand in his paw. The trickle of blue blood is cold and thick, yet once it meets mine, something changes. A thousand pins prick my hand, rippling down my arms, tail, and body.

  We must keep each other secret to keep each other safe.

  I yank my hand away, frowning at the lingering pain. “You mean not tell anyone?”

  The massive head nods.

  “No one at all?” I am not sure I can keep such a secret as this from Father.

  No one!

  The force of his thought shoves me against the tree. “At least allow me to tell my father,” I plead.

  No one, the dragon think-speaks again, though softer this time.

  “But we’re working against the wizard. You hate him, too. If we all work together, surely we could defeat him. You are huge!”

  The nearest eye blinks slowly. Size and power are not always related. Though yes, once, I might have defeated the wizard.

  “Why not now?”

  He killed too many of my brothers and sisters. They were the strong ones.

  “But how do you know if you have never tried? You will not be alone. Like you said, we will be stronger together.”

  I can make no promises when it comes to wizards. He pauses, the giant stone face hovering above my head, and inhales deeply. The pale eyes flare and turn to slits. I must go.

  “Wait! How will I find you again?” I ask, hoping I have not pestered him too much about telling Father. Now that I have stumbled upon this strange creature, I must see him again.

  Next time you are in the woods, come to the river, and I will find you. Good-bye, sister.

  The dragon folds in on himself, returning to the rock formation I mistook him for earlier. His skin does look exactly like rough granite.

  That is, until he shimmers in the sun and vanishes from sight.

  The huge beast, nowhere to be seen. I test the air where he was moments before—nothing at all. Just empty space.

  That emptiness fills my chest now too. I liked that dragon. He was different and powerful—like me. He called me sister. Until now, I have not had much in common with, well, anyone. Except Father.

  Now I share a blood bond with a creature more extraordinary than anything I could dream up from the pictures in my books.

  But where did he go? How did he disappear? And, most importantly, when can I see him again?

  I trudge through the forest as dusk swiftly approaches. I must return home before Father, but part of me is afraid. It is bad enough that I have not told him about the boy and his roses. Keeping a real, live dragon a secret? Unthinkable! Especially when he could be an ally in our fight against the wizard.

  Yet the thought of telling Father when the dragon was so serious—and stern—sends a sick feeling swimming through my gut. The next time I see Batu, I will do my best to persuade him to let me tell Father. Together, the three of us could certainly rid Bryre of the wizard.

  Maybe it would not be so bad for me to tell Father first. He would know what to do, and he might be able to explain what this blood bond is about. But telling him I met a dragon also means admitting I left the safety of the cottage in daylight without his permission. Perhaps I can find another way to bring it up.

  I will protect the dragon with everything I can, though my silence I cannot guarantee.

  The sick feeling moves up my chest, settling around my throat as the word sister bounces inside my brain. I never had a sibling before. I don’t think I realized how much I wanted one until now. That word, sister, conjures thoughts of shared secrets and comfort. I wonder if the dragon thinks of sisters that way too.

  My ears perk up. Footsteps tromp along the path behind me, crunching the leaves in a regular pattern. I leap up to the branches of the nearest tree. I smell Father before I see him. My heart lurches into my throat. I do not want him to discover I have been out without his permission. I launch into the air and wing toward home. The hedge is not far and I am running into the house within minutes.

  Now if only I can catch my breath before he enters the cottage, he will never know. Pippa yaps at me as I settle into her favorite armchair. I pull out the book I was reading at the river and skim the chapters, hoping for one with dragons.

  I want to know everything about them.

  The cottage door creaks open as Father steps inside. He sniffs, then tilts his head in my direction. “Have you started supper yet?”

  Drat. I forgot all about that. The pot for our vegetable stew hangs empty over the hearth. I close my book guiltily; I will have to return to it later. “Forgive me, I got caught up in the book you gave me.” I hold it up and smile, blue eyes firmly in place.

  “No matter, child, we will eat a little later tonight than usual. I did have something at the market, anyway. Be a good girl and peel the carrots, will you?” As I return the book to its place on the shelf, Father stops and stares at me with amazement. “My dear, where have you been?”

  A hot blush creeps up from my neck bolts. “What do you mean? I have been here, of course.” The lie tastes sour on my tongue.

  “Your skirts and feet are caked with mud!” Pippa sniffs me for good measure, then slinks away as soon as she sees my gaze.

  “I . . . must have gotten them dirty while I was watering my roses.” My mind and heart race each other, though my stumbling tongue does all the work. “I may have been daydreaming. I did not even notice!” I laugh at my supposed foolishness, certain the color of my skin will give me away.

  Father shakes his head. “Well, my dear, you are tracking mud all over the floor. I will handle the stew, while you clean up. A muddy dinner would not be very tasty, now would it?” He kisses my forehead, and I can hardly believe he does not feel the heat of my skin.

  He believes me. I lied and he does not even question. This is almost worse than keeping secrets.

  I hurry to the washroom and clean as best as I can. When I return to the kitchen in a deep blue dress and black leather slippers—dirt free—Father has the stew bubbling over the fire. The aroma fills me with warmth and guilt. I should have been home earlier and made dinner for Father. He walked half the day at least. His old bones must be very tired.

  “Father, please sit,” I say, shooing Pippa off his armchair. She growls and hides under the chair. “I will stir the stew.”

  He smiles warmly. It make
s me feel even worse. “Why thank you, Kym. I think I shall.” He scratches Pippa’s ears, then settles into his chair. I scoot mine closer to the fire and stir our dinner every few minutes.

  “Did you find what you needed at the market?” I ask, racking my brain for a way to bring up the dragon without letting on that I left our yard.

  “Some of it, yes.” His fingers tap the arm of the chair. “Others are harder to find. More scarce.”

  “Like what?” He plans to go out more often now that I have become self-sufficient, and I am quite curious about his trips.

  “Well, I did get the gecko’s tail and the hawthorn, ash, and rowan seeds I needed. They are key ingredients in the process of building hybrids. And you never know when we may need more chickens.”

  Indeed, the chickens can barely keep up with enough eggs to feed Father and me as it is.

  “Can I go with you next time?”

  He laughs. “No, I am afraid not, and you know perfectly well why.”

  I scowl. “They do not like hybrids either?”

  “They do not. There is a reason the half-breeds—centaurs, fauns, and mermaids—always kept to themselves. Those that remain now hide.”

  “As do dragons,” I add.

  “Yes, if any still live.”

  I open my mouth to say the words, but the odd feeling from earlier returns full force, squeezing my vocal cords in place. My skin tingles with invisible pinpricks. I can do nothing but flap my jaw and cough.

  Terror trickles up the scales of my tail to my spine. I spoke fine seconds ago, but now when I try to speak about the dragon, I cannot utter a word.

  That feeling, rearing up like a living thing in response. Could it be magic? Could the dragon have spelled me with that blood bond?

  Batu may have called me sister, but he does not trust me. My heart sinks; I was going to tell Father. I suppose the dragon had reason. I will have to ask him to undo this.

  I stir the soup a little too hard and broth sloshes onto the fire. “What was it you could not get?” Relief floods my bones. My voice returns now that I have relinquished the thought of telling Father about the dragon.