Her Ugly Monster (book 1)

by Kaylee Rymer

  “Of course,” she said.

  He disappeared amongst the firs. Ivora gave a sigh and followed him up.

  What had she been thinking? She’d be killed before she even reached The Blanket.

  Now her aunt Elly seemed far away once again, and she closed her eyes. It appeared she was staying with Weegel for a while now, and she’d never felt more hopeless.

  Yet why did her heart flutter when he’d touched her lips?

  11. Weegel

  Weegel finished his latest perimeter check of the mountain.

  Ever since the men appeared, he’d become obsessed, setting up various traps around the woods.

  Luckily, the men hadn’t returned. It seemed they’d just been passing by and enjoying the scenery.

  If it had to get ugly though, Weegel would have held no qualms. After all, he had to protect himself and Ivy now too.

  It was strange how the girl factored into his own safety. Sure, she’d paid for his protection and shelter, so she was only getting her money’s worth. But would he still protect her without the juicy prize? It was hard to tell. Not that the necklace didn’t help in the matter.

  Every time his mind wandered back to his plans to go north, Ivy’s big green eyes got in the way.

  Where would Ivy go once he left? The Blanket was well hidden. Weegel had lived in the mountains for five years and seen no sign. If he had to guess, it was somewhere to the west, nestled snuggly inside a small valley. A permanent mist covered the area as stories told of wandering travellers who’d disappeared.

  She’d be fine on her own. The girl was big enough. All she had to do was learn to fend for herself, and she’d be good to go. Yet why did his chest clench at the thought of leaving her?

  Her green pools wouldn’t leave him, and he tried to rip them free from his mind, but they were as stubborn as ever.

  They were even more beautiful up close; her irises had small flecks of brown inside them, and her lashes were thick and long. And he wasn’t sure why he’d forgotten to remove his finger from her lips. The men had left, yet he still held on. They were soft and plump, with a pronounced dip beneath the nose.

  A silver light shone ahead, and Weegel shielded his eyes.

  When his vision adjusted, he checked his surroundings. It was the place where he’d first found Ivy, crying over the body of her dead horse.

  He approached the light, careful not to look directly at it. Air escaped his lungs when he caught sight of a bright silver horse. He blinked several times, but the horse’s silhouette continued to flash behind his lids.

  Surely, this couldn’t be the same horse? Ivy’s had been a dull grey. The only other horse he’d seen with fur so bright had been a unicorn.

  Keeping his eyes closed, Weegel kneeled and felt the mare’s forehead. No horn.

  There was only one answer; the mare was descended from a unicorn. Breeders often mixed unicorn blood with their horses to make a profit, yet never to this extreme. So the mare must be a direct descendant.

  It must have been expensive. How in the world did Ivy acquire such a beast, a humble peasant girl who lived in a cottage?

  Weegel stole another peek. The wound had healed on the mare’s body, and no maggots could be found.

  Magic. Plain and simple.

  A heavy feeling grew inside him. He couldn’t leave such a pure creature alone in the woods. It may be dead, but its magic lived on.

  Weegel gazed at the ground. Flowers surrounded the mare. Even the pine above the horse had produced several blossoms where birds and squirrels frolicked with joy.

  It gave him an idea.

  He marched up the slope and found a hidden tunnel into the mountain. He raced up, retrieved a shovel from a storage nook, and headed back down.

  The sun hovered along the western skyline by the time he finished. He patted down a fresh mound of earth by the tree. Now the horse’s magic could feed the pine for years to come, bringing joy to all the local wildlife.

  Weegel wiped the sweat off his forehead and collapsed to the ground. The sweet smell of soil lingered in the air, filling him with a sense of achievement.

  Ivy’s mare could rest in peace.

  WEEGEL HID AWAY IN his study late that evening. Every few weeks, he would sit down and count all the money he’d collected so far.

  Bannog the costume designer did not come cheap, and he would only want to be paid in suns and crescents like any other magical creature.

  Magical money wasn’t much different from human money, save for appearance: silver crescents were shaped like a half moon, and golden suns were shaped like stars.

  The one thing they did have in common — the face of King Astor.

  Many members of the magical community could also enchant suns to look like human gold, which was an advantage on Weegel’s part; he’d fooled many a human over the years.

  There was just the matter of jumping Bannog’s queue. That’s where Stannog came in, Bannog’s surly cousin. He owned a tavern close to the mountain.

  Weegel wouldn’t give up on the necklace. When he finally gets a disguise, he could visit a human pawnbroker and get his two thousand. No human would be any the wiser.

  He added another piece to a tower of gold.

  Footsteps padded down the tunnel, and Weegel rolled his eyes.

  Ivy...

  The last thing he needed was her honeysuckle scent clogging up his nostrils.

  She appeared in the doorway, and her scent wafted his way. He struggled to breathe.

  “I... thought I’d find you here,” she said.

  “Yes, so you have,” he replied, trying to get his bearings. Her scent was extra sharp today. “Now leave. Your foolish talk can wait.”

  She stepped further into the room, bringing in her signature smell with her. “I only came to say hello. You’ve been gone all day. Any sign of those men?”

  “No. It appears they were just sight-seeing, but they’re long gone now.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good to know.”

  She fell silent.

  Weegel regarded her from the corner of his eye. She gazed at her feet, looking indecisive.

  He sighed. “Is there something else you want?”

  Ivy peered up. “Yes. Since it’s okay to go outside, I’m going to collect logs. The hearth died an hour ago.”

  Weegel snorted. “So go. Don’t tell me about it.”

  She watched him incredulously. “Well then, I’m sorry for ever thinking you may care.”

  “I don’t.”

  Ivy gasped. When he didn’t reply, she shook her head and disappeared through the door.

  Weegel returned to his gold, adding another piece to the pile. Three hundred and ninety-eight.

  The pile wobbled, and he held his breath.

  Steady now.

  “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

  The pile collapsed, scattering gold everywhere. Weegel closed his eyes as the blood rushed through his head.

  He turned around.

  Ivy inched towards the door. “I... erm...”

  “Leave,” he breathed.

  She bumped into the wall, feeling her way along until she found the door, and vanished.

  Weegel threw his face onto the desk, and more coins toppled over his head.

  He growled. Stupid Ivy. Why had she felt the need to tell him it was her birthday? Did she expect he would jump up and dance around? Nonsense.

  Her parents must have convinced her that birthdays were special. Rather adorable; it was as if she was six years old.

  Weegel couldn’t even remember the last time he’d celebrated a birthday. In fact, he wasn’t even sure of the exact date, but he knew he was born during the twenty-fifth year of King Godwyn’s reign.

  His nose started to ache pressed up against the desk, so he raised his head and gave it a rub.

  He bent to pick up a few scattered coins. Some had fallen into an open drawer, and he groped inside. His hand froze on a wooden figure. He pulled it out, feeling a sting to his ey
es.

  The figure was of a wooden cat, sitting upright and proud.

  Weegel sighed. It had been a year since Billy died.

  He could still remember the day as if it were yesterday; he’d shouted at Billy, just like he’d shouted at Ivy.

  It was as if the cat had tried to tell him, for he later died that night of heart failure.

  The following winter had been the coldest Weegel had ever known. With Billy gone, it only made him more desperate to find his people.

  Loneliness was one of the biggest killers. Forget disease and famine when you’re craving for companionship.

  Weegel rotated the wooden cat in his fingers. It silently judged him with that smug look typical of cats, and for a moment it reminded him of Ivy.

  “I’m sorry I yelled, Billy.”

  He placed the cat on the desk and leaned back in his seat. Tomorrow, he would search the forest for the perfect branch, and make Ivy a birthday present.

  12. Ivora

  Ivora woke to no surprises on the morning of her sixteenth birthday. Instead, she found herself inside a cold, dark cave, and threw the quilts back over her head.

  It was not real. It was just a dream. She would wake any moment in her own bed with Bryce by her side, and Mother bringing her breakfast.

  Then they would sit by the fire downstairs while Ivora opened her presents: an artist’s easel, a set of paints, and brand new shoes.

  She squeezed her eyes, counting down to ten. Any moment now the nightmare would end.

  She peered over the quilt. Stone walls still surrounded her, and she buried her head under the sheets again. What was the point in getting up? Her birthday may as well be like any other day of the year.

  So why did she feel as if she’d swallowed a bag of rocks?

  Ivora remembered Weegel’s reaction the night before. Telling him had been a mistake, but she’d had to tell someone and get it off her chest.

  No one should have to spend their birthday alone.

  Some time passed. Water dripped somewhere to the right, echoing around the empty cave.

  She had to get up. No point in hiding forever.

  Ivora dressed and made her way down the tunnel. As usual, the kitchen was worcog free, and a part of her wondered if he’d even remembered her telling him last night.

  After breakfast, she grabbed her cloak and walked further down. A bright golden sun glimmered in a clear sky when she stepped outside, but the weather was still bitter cold.

  The valley was silent. Still no sign of the wolf. It appeared the creature had vanished the day it killed Belle, but Ivora still wasn’t taking any chances.

  She turned left and headed for the northern slope. A craggy path led the way, large rocks on either side. Wild goats scaled the cliffs, tiptoeing along narrow ledges to reach thick tufts of grass.

  She arrived at her destination. The northern slope spread out before her, blanketed in wild heather and bright yellow flowers, and it cheered her spirits.

  Just maybe today would pick up after all.

  A stream raced down the slope, a glistening ribbon of crystal clear water. Ivora would take a dip and cleanse her body.

  She followed the stream and sat down at an even level to dip her toes into the water. It sent ice-cold shivers up her leg, but she submerged deeper, watching as a school of fish swam away.

  Ivora held her head back, letting the sun soak her face. Carefully, she reached her hands up to her bodice and loosened the top string.

  “Ah, shit!”

  She jumped and re-fastened her bodice.

  The voice had come from a cluster of trees further down. A figure moved in and out of view, flaying its arms like a headless chicken.

  “Great. Just great!”

  Heat rose in her cheeks when she recognised Weegel’s voice. Thank goodness she hadn’t taken off her bodice.

  She clambered up to her feet and followed the stream the rest of the way down.

  Weegel paced along the bank, sucking on his finger like a toddler. On the ground lay a knife and a shaved branch. Blood splattered the blade, and her stomach rolled.

  He spotted her then, his eyes growing wide, and kicked the branch into the stream. “What are you doing here?”

  Ivora moved closer. “I heard you yelling, so I came down to see how you were. Did you cut your finger?”

  Weegel hid his finger behind his back. “None of your business.” He bent down to fish the branch out the stream, grabbed his knife, and stomped up the slope, muttering, “Can’t get a moment’s peace around here anymore.”

  Ivora watched him leave, puzzled. He trekked up the footpath, continuing to mutter to himself like a crazy person.

  What was his problem?

  IVORA RETURNED TO THE mountain at dusk.

  Even though she had spent the day alone, apart from the strange encounter with Weegel in the woods, she’d had a surprisingly good birthday. Not the one she would have chosen, but otherwise pleasant.

  What she really wanted were her parents, just to see them again and hold them in her arms. Ivora had never gone a day without them, and it hurt not having them around anymore.

  Mother would tell her she looked beautiful in her new dress, and Father would ruffle her hair and pull her close.

  And then they’d make the worcog give her back the necklace. Father had already got it back from him once before; he could easily do it again.

  She stopped at the threshold of the kitchen. Weegel sat at the table, chomping on a leg of rabbit. The chamber filled with his annoying chewing sounds, and she cringed.

  He was such a loud eater.

  The worcog gave her a vicious sidelong glare then froze.

  He went completely silent, and Ivora started to feel a little concerned. Was he broken?

  Ivora stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

  Weegel blinked and turned away, muttering under his breath.

  She furrowed her brows. “Excuse me?”

  “I said... nice... nice flowers...”

  Ivora reached up and touched the flower crown in her hair. Earlier, she’d scoured the hills for flowers, and fastened them to her forelocks. All lavenders and blues to match her dress.

  She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Well... thank you.”

  Weegel continued to stare at her. She glanced over his face. A shiny film covered his lips, and she shook her head. So messy.

  He seemed to catch on and wiped his face, a little embarrassed. Ivora smiled to herself and removed her cloak.

  “Keep it on... you’ll need it.”

  “For what?” she said.

  He rose from his seat, his eyes glowing mischievously. “It’s a surprise...”

  Ivora watched him confused a moment and then threw her cloak back on. “So, what now?”

  “Follow me.”

  Weegel filed out the room. Ivora followed, having no idea what was going on. They walked down the dark tunnel, the only light coming from Weegel’s lamp.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “I had a few berries earlier,” she replied.

  Weegel sighed. “Suppose they’ll have to do.”

  Ivora raised a brow. What was wrong with berries?

  They continued down until they reached the end of the tunnel. They emerged outside. Night had fallen, and Ivora tightened her cloak around her body.

  “Where are we going this late at night?”

  “Out.”

  Ivora’s heart beat faster, and she retreated back into the tunnel. “Out? But... where?”

  He smirked, tapping his nose, and marched down the slope.

  She stayed inside the cave, too afraid to venture outside. He didn’t mean to take her away from the mountain, did he?

  “What’s taking so long?”

  Ivora swallowed and released a shaky sigh. “All right, I’m... coming.”

  She moved down after him, keeping a watchful eye on the shadows. At least in the day, she could see the trees, but at night her mind played tricks on
her. She imagined the silhouette of a big black wolf, telling herself it wasn’t real.

  They made it to the foot of the mountain. Weegel entered the forest below, and disappeared amongst the trees, taking the light of the lamp with him.

  Ivora breathed fast, gazing down into the woods. She had half a mind to turn back and run up to the mountain, but Weegel would get suspicious and start asking her questions.

  Slowly, she placed one foot into the forest. No wolves jumped out at her. Then she took another step, and another, and broke into a run.

  She stopped beside Weegel, panting and sweating.

  “I was wondering when you’d show,” he said.

  Ivora wiped the sweat from her hairline. “Well... I’m here now. No need to worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  She looked his way. He kept his eyes on the trees ahead, his face impassive as always.

  She rolled her eyes. Why did she even bother?

  “So will you finally tell me where we are going?” she asked, hoping he would at least give her that courtesy.

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  Ivora sighed and focused on the path ahead. Something squeaked in the bushes, and she jumped, clinging onto Weegel.

  He sniggered. “You really are afraid of the dark, aren’t you?”

  She let go of him. “I told you I wasn’t.”

  “It’s all right. We’re almost there now, anyway.”

  Ivora gazed around. “Where—?”

  He stopped, holding a finger up. “Listen.”

  She listened. There were distant animal sounds, ghoulish in the dark of night, but nothing more. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “There it is. A change in the wind.”

  Ivora concentrated again. Still nothing.

  She was about to reprimand him, but a whistling sound rustled through the trees. The wind swept her hair up, and she grabbed onto Weegel.

  A broad smile spread across his face.

  “What?” she said.

  “I just wanted to see the expression on your face. Seldom men, or women in your case, have walked this land.”

  “What land?”

  “Look around.”