Barnabas draws closer to the dragon caught in his web. The briar vines speed their growth until they cover Batu entirely. Drops of blue, glittering liquid—dragon’s blood—dot the ground. He stops moving.
I am sorry, sister, he says.
Tears sting paths down my cheeks. “No, no!”
I tried. Sometimes that is all you can do. I shall miss you. Farewell.
“I will miss you, too,” I whisper.
And then he is gone.
Bang!
Brilliant light fills the street. Barnabas stands stock still, arms lifted above his head, welcoming the onslaught. It pours into him until he’s lit up like the sun. His body contorts, leaving him crooked and bent, but with a horrid gleam in his eyes.
Beside him, Batu’s body crumbles into shimmering dust.
“Good-bye, my dear,” Barnabas says with a tilt of his head. He vanishes into the street.
A howl tears from my chest, mournful and furious. My heart twists with grief. Batu’s kind, wise yellow eyes and craggy face. The sun glittering off his granite scales. The way he called me sister.
He was my dragon, my brother. I was so certain Batu could defeat Barnabas. The dragon was right to be so wary for so long.
Batu ventured out into the open for me, for my cause.
I refuse to let his death be in vain.
The shadow ropes have vanished with the wizard. With a burst of renewed strength, I rip my arms from the briars’ hold and claw my way free. I collapse for a moment on the pavement, gasping to catch my breath.
Barnabas may be gone, but I know where he is headed.
The palace. For Oliver. For revenge.
At the end of the abandoned, briar-infested alley, I find the ten palace guards trapped by the vines. I cut them free and together we run into the nearest clear street. The briar vines slither slowly after us, like a living creature.
“Go, alert the council,” I tell the guards.
Ren and Greta barrel around the corner, nearly colliding with them.
“Don’t go down there! The briar will eat you alive.” I grab Ren’s arm and they both stop.
“He’s here already? Is that what we heard?” Greta asks, eyes wide. “The ground was shaking horribly!”
“He set the vines on us and got away. He—he killed Batu.” I choke out the words. “He’s going to the palace, I’m sure of it.”
“We’re coming with you,” Ren says, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.
“Ren, Greta, you—”
“We know. We’re still coming with you.”
The determination on their faces makes it clear I won’t be able to get rid of them except by force. I hate the thought of either of them in harm’s way, but at the same time I’m relieved not to have to do this alone.
When we reach the gates of the palace, it’s clear Barnabas has already been here. The gates are blown off the hinges, pieces scattered in the street. We slink in, keeping to the walls and hiding behind the massive hedge monsters.
Barnabas stands in front of the palace, all his attention on the person before him.
The king is suspended above the marble stairway between the reaching arms of two hedges. A centaur and a mermaid fight over him as the rest of the plants try to tear him in two. They’ve come alive, spelled by Barnabas’s magic. A silent cry rises in the back of my throat.
Barnabas is making good on his threat and giving Oliver the most perfect, painful vantage point to watch his city’s destruction.
Vines and thorns from the briar snake through the garden and carved iron door, winding around hedges and roses alike. If we don’t stop him, the briar will consume the entire city in one night.
The harpy we hide behind turns a leafy scowl on us. As it reaches its limbs out, I shove Ren and Greta to the side. The branches curl around my chest, lifting me up in a crushing embrace. Flecks of light dance before my eyes. I thrash, struggling to breathe through the pain, but it squeezes harder. Nearby, Ren and Greta are caught by a giant minotaur and faun.
My tail wraps around the limb and I pull as hard as I can. It cracks and creaks and the harpy’s scowl deepens. But its grip loosens and that is all the advantage I need. With one hand free, I slash at the branches until they finally break and I drop to the ground.
A glint of silver catches my eye—Ren’s sword, lying where he dropped it in the attack. I scoop it up and toss it to Ren, then wrap my tail around the minotaur’s legs. It takes only a minute of squeezing before they break in half and the creature topples over. Ren extricates himself from the foliage and attacks the faun without pausing to catch his breath. Moments later, Greta is on her feet again.
With our backs to the wall surrounding the palace, we pause to regroup. So do the hedge creatures. A menacing line forms in front of us, blocking our path to the king and Barnabas.
I glance at Ren and Greta, and my heart swells. Barnabas will not stop until every person I love is dead or enslaved. Until Bryre is reduced to rubble. Rosabel understood this. Despite his efforts to squash my memories, he made a fatal mistake by leaving one part intact: love of my home. His awful plan required my utmost devotion to Bryre and its citizens. Even if I don’t remember everyone I knew before, I’ll do anything to protect them.
I swallow the lump growing in my throat. I could not protect Batu. I must protect those who remain.
Horrid laughter echoes through the garden.
“Have you come here to save him?” The laughter vanishes and Barnabas’s tone is quietly mocking. He glances over his shoulder and that hateful smirk consumes my vision. He may have turned me into an abomination, but he’s the real monster.
“You think they care about you, is that it? Oh, they might play at it, my dear, but they do not know you. They could never care for a monster.”
Fury burns in my chest like a candle tipped into a haystack—small at first, until it bursts all over. Ren squeezes one hand, and Greta squeezes the other. The hedges, roses, and vines smoke from the excess magic in the air. Thunder rumbles and dark, vicious clouds gather over our heads. Barnabas uses everything he has to keep the king suspended by shadow ropes while he taunts him, letting the hedge monsters tug as viciously as they please. Each grunt and cry from Oliver only makes Barnabas more absorbed in his task.
Barnabas has no fear. He knows no one will challenge him.
I step toward the line of hedge creatures.
“Kym.” Ren wraps his fingers around my wrist, sending streams of warmth up my arm. “What are you doing?”
“The only thing I can.” Heady with an odd mix of fear and bravery, I force myself to step away, and take off into the air, swooping over and around the hedges. Seconds later, I land a few feet behind Barnabas. He sends the shadow ropes spiraling into the air, and a hedge centaur catches them, pulling them taut to keep Oliver suspended. Barnabas turns his gaze skyward, and a bolt of lightning strikes the marble steps behind Oliver. I crouch low, claws out, tail poised.
“What did they promise you? A role protecting them? That you would have the honor of keeping them safe?” Barnabas advances slowly, and I match him with a step back every time, waiting for my opening. Shadows trail from his fingertips like strange, glowing smoke.
“They offered me kindness,” I say, though his words prickle. Faint sparks flash in his palms.
“Kindness? Of course they are kind. You terrify them. They have no idea what you are capable of, and they never wish to find out.” He stops and places his hand over his heart. “I, on the other hand, know you as no one else can. I made you.”
“You know nothing of how they feel.” I cling to the memories of Oliver taking my arm without flinching, of Ren and me running through the streets hand in hand, of the city folk cheering as I was proclaimed Bryre’s protector, of my mother’s face carved into marble—and of my own former self. He’s wrong, I’m certain of it. Perhaps I scared them once, but no longer.
“You are useful tamed, but you will always be a monster.” Wind kicks up behind me. I edge near the
line of hedge creatures, but they’re too close together and I can’t see beyond them.
“I wasn’t a monster to Batu.” A new jolt of rage trills through my blood, and I focus on that with razor-sharp clarity. “You killed him.”
Confusion colors Barnabas’s face for a fleeting moment. Then he laughs. “You named the dragon?” A roar comes from the west, growing louder by the second. “I have been hunting that one for years. Thank you, dear daughter, for luring it into the open.”
“I am not your daughter,” I say through gritted teeth. A briar vine twines around my ankle, but I yank my foot away.
“Yes, you are. You and I, we are dark creatures. Do not fight it. Together we could wield more power than any kingdom.”
He splays his hands wide, and shadow ropes slink from his palms toward me. At the same time, a huge funnel cloud rips the western wall to mere rubble, sending bricks in all directions.
Not one hits Barnabas.
The funnel cloud shreds the western side of the garden, destroying several hedge creatures in the process. And Rosabel’s roses. Leaves, twigs, and petals swirl in the cloud and fall to the ground like rain.
“I’ve never wanted that sort of power.” I struggle to keep my voice even. He either toys with me or he’s truly delusional, and believes his pleas to join him might have an effect.
The funnel cloud peels the roof off the fancy portico entrance, knocking over two of the marble columns and breaking the other two in half. The raging wind pulls at my cloak and hair, and flings leaves in my face. The ground trembles beneath my feet.
“That is very disappointing.” For one moment, he looks genuinely sad. A lightning bolt zings the ground by my feet, forcing me to jump back. The shadow ropes advance, coiled and ready to spring.
So am I.
I duck under the coils, rolling in the grass and debris, then leap to my feet and take off into the air.
I circle twice over the scene to get my bearings, avoiding the funnel cloud and dodging lightning. I swoop back down to the earth and curl my tail and arms around Barnabas’s gnarled form, pinning his arms to his sides so he can’t use his power on me. The magic has warped him in body and mind. It took me so long to see that. But now everything is clear.
Ignoring Barnabas’s howls, I shoot into the air and soar until I graze the rumbling, darkened cloud bank. He’s heavy and awkward, and his cold shadow ropes curl around my neck and arms, threatening to choke me. I let the fierce winds spin me in the sky, keeping him and his magic tricks off balance. But the shadow ropes are odd things. Where they touch my skin, freezing pain sears, more so than before, and I bite my tongue to keep from screaming. It is a bizarre pain, and with every second that ticks by, I feel a little weaker.
“You will not hurt me,” he sneers. “I made you. If you kill me, you will die too. You are too fond of that fool boy and the other humans. I know you do not want to die.”
Before he can free his hands to place them on my forehead and make me forget, I release my grip on his body and drop him into his own funnel cloud. Lightning crackles and sparks out of it, illuminating the debris caught in its pull.
Then it spits him out.
He plummets with a wild look in his eyes, before landing on the top of a broken pillar. In seconds his body crumbles to dust.
Now, as I soar over the garden, a brilliant light envelops me and a warmth rises from the tips of my toes and presses down from the crown of my head. Rather like the warmth I feel when I look at Ren. The tingling heat swells and spreads like a great beam of sunlight, until it swallows me up and nothing remains to see or feel.
Epilogue
THE BLINDING LIGHT WEAVES AND TWISTS AROUND THE MONSTER GIRL while the pair of children below run to free the man trapped in twining branches over the broken stairs. They gape at the sight above them as they help him to a bench.
The light fades to a shimmering, and the air crackles around the form as it drifts back to the earth. Arms, legs, wings, and tail curl inward, taking on a greenish hue. Claws and barbs become thorns. She transforms before their eyes, growing more compact every second, until finally alighting on the top of a broken pillar.
The princess who became a monster is now a rose about to bloom, with all the magic of the wizard stored in the tiny beating heart at the base of her stem. The evil presence that hung over the land for so long is vanquished, canceled out by an act of love.
The roots of the rose burrow through the marble column, digging deep into the earth of her city. Unknown to the three humans watching, the creeping briar at the back of the palace withers and recedes until it crumbles into dust. The protective wards, damaged by the machinations of the wizard, heal over, and the rubble by the hole in the city wall begins to knit back together brick by brick. Ribbons of magic flow through the ground, mending all the things that were torn apart. The palace, its walls and halls and crypt. The garden maze behind it that was the first to be consumed by the pitiless briars. The streets and alleys and houses, now renewed by magic in the hands of a kind user. The guardian rose’s roots run deep, healing and protecting the land with her magic. And there she will remain, watching over her beloved city forever.
While the three on the bench watch in wonder, the green stem and leaves unfurl, rising higher into a tightfisted bud. The flower blooms, and its petals open, exhaling toward the stars.
Acknowledgments
I FEAR IT’S AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK TO THANK EVERYONE WHO HAS encouraged, supported, and believed in Monstrous within the span of only a couple pages. The writing community, especially the kid-lit community, is made up of a multitude of kind and supportive writers and readers, many of whom have cheered this manuscript on from the very beginning. Such unflagging support is a true gift, and I’m very grateful for every second of it.
There are, of course, a few who stand out, and without whom Monstrous would never have landed in readers’ hands. To those listed below, you have my deepest gratitude for all that you do.
My editors, Rosemary Brosnan and Andrea Martin, for being patient, brilliant, and especially for insisting that this book needed more dragon (they were correct!). Monstrous blossomed under their kind, yet tough, guiding pens, and it’s been a pleasure and an honor to work with them. Also, infinite thanks to everyone at HarperCollins who has touched this book in any way, shape, or form—the people behind the scenes play a much larger role in bringing a book to life than most people realize, and the team at Harper is exceptional.
My literary fairy godmother (a.k.a. agent) Suzie Townsend, for loving this book as much as I do, and for making dreams come true. Also, everyone at New Leaf Literary & Media for being the most supportive, fabulous champions of a book a writer could possibly ask for.
My most stalwart critique partners: Mindy McGinnis, whose hilarious (and—sadly—utterly inappropriate to print in the back of a middle grade novel) frustration at the ending of an early draft of Monstrous convinced me it needed an epilogue; and R.C. Lewis, who speedily read my first editorial revision of Monstrous (among other drafts) and reassured me that I had, in fact, not ruined the book. Many thanks to these ladies for allowing me to flail in their direction whenever the need arose!
My critique group and beta readers: Cat, Derrick, Ríoghnach, Stephanie D., Sakura, Jordan, Eric, Chris, Melodie, Stacy, and Tracy. Without their excellent feedback on this book (and many other manuscripts over the years), Monstrous simply wouldn’t be the same.
The wonderful folks at AgentQuery Connect, my second home on the internet. This is where I learned what a query was and how to write one (though not without extensive trial and error), and found like-minded writers, friends, and critique partners. AQC is a beacon of reason and a bounty of resources in the rough sea of publishing advice that resides on the web. I would have drowned without it.
The children’s book community (both online and off) whose awesomeness never fails to astound me. In particular, thank you to Krista, Brenda, Monica, and the pseudonymous Cupid who ran the first Writer’s Voic
e online contest. The outpouring of love for my entry from the judges and contestants gave me the nerve to query the weird little book that was Monstrous. It was just the push I needed, and I honestly don’t know that I would have without it.
My best friends, Trish and Chandra, who were there through all the highs and the lows on the crazy journey to publication and cheered me up when I needed it. Espinaca and Indian food are the cure for all woes.
The loving support of my entire family, but especially my parents, for encouraging me in every dream I ever had, no matter how ridiculous (even that time I decided I’d grow up to be a traveling farmer who lived in a motor home). They let me believe anything was possible. And of course, many thanks to my sister and nephew for being my first nonwriter readers.
And finally, Jason, for happily letting me have the time and space to write whenever I needed it, for listening to me babble on about plot twists with no context whatsoever, and for keeping me in writing fuel (otherwise known as coffee). You are always my favorite.
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About the Author
Photo by Cheryl Colombo Photography
MARCYKATE CONNOLLY is a writer and arts administrator living in New England with her husband and pugs. She’s a coffee addict and voracious reader. This is her first novel. You can visit her online at www.marcykate.com.
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Credits
Cover art © 2015 by Skottie Young
Hand lettering © 2015 by David Coulson
Monstrous Page 31
