How to Love a Monster

by Lyssa Dering

  Neisha is silent for several seconds. “Are they in trouble?”

  “No! I’m pleased with everyone. I’m pleased with all of you.” Somewhere under my pain, which is stiffened like sore muscles, guilt worms its way in. I sigh. “Will you please pass on the message that all is well? I…can’t do it myself.”

  “Of course, Boss.”

  “Wonderful. Goodb—”

  “Boss?”

  I give the wall a withering look. “What?”

  “W-Would you like someone to visit the plants in your stead? As you know, I deeply respect you and the business. I’ve shown myself to be loyal, and I promise to be diligent with all paperwork, and—”

  “Neisha.” Against all odds, my lips attempt to tilt into a smile. “Are you asking for a promotion?”

  A very tiny whimper slithers into my ear. “Yes.”

  Oh, isn’t she just adorable! But what of the responsibilities she has currently? She acts as chauffeur for not only me.

  I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “I would love to give you more important responsibilities. However, I will need to find someone to take your place.”

  “If I may, Boss, I would like to suggest my girlfriend, Romy. She’s been looking to move up from the Love house she’s stationed at.”

  “Hmm.” I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling I have grown utterly familiar with in Seraphim’s absence (during which he has not made any attempts to return, according to my phone). “Would you mind terribly coming to my house? If Romy is available, I would like for her to come as well. We could speak about the positions.”

  “Today?”

  I picture removing myself from the bedcovers, bathing, sipping on some blue juice. But it all sounds so difficult. I don’t have it in me. “Tomorrow would be better. Any time. Message me an hour before. And do not ever call me again, please. Not unless all my money’s disappeared or someone’s half-dead, and even then…”

  Sera

  A droplet of sweat tickles the base of my spine as I trudge my way through daytime in Wish City. Clearly, the weather here makes zero earthly sense. The night I left Fiend’s, it was a perfectly acceptable temperature, but the weather dropped several degrees over the course of the next day, and that night, I was too cold to get more than a few hours of sleep, curled up on a bench I found in a tiny park. Yesterday, it was warm and breezy, but today, it might as well be the dead of summer.

  By now, I’m regretting a few things. Like how I didn’t figure out how to bring some kind of liquid with me. Even just something to put water into would be nice, since the only way I’ve managed to stay some semblance of hydrated is by visiting every public restroom I run into and drinking from my hands at the sinks.

  Also, I should have nicked Fiend’s sunglasses and hat. They would have helped keep the heat from my face as well as disguised me from anyone around who might be one of Fiend’s “soldiers.” Maybe Fiend doesn’t want to find me; maybe he doesn’t care. But I’d rather not end up a prisoner again if I can help it.

  I’ve been walking for two-and-a-half days trying to find the courthouse from that magnetic photo. I don’t know if this is what Wish meant for me to interpret, but what else am I supposed to do? If I don’t have some kind of end goal in sight, I’ll go crazy out here. But I don’t know what comes next if I can’t find it—if it exists. Fiend’s words haunt me every hour I fail to catch a glimpse of a dome and columns made of pale concrete. “I’m the government, precious, and my soldiers are the police.” Doesn’t that mean no government buildings?

  The absolute worst part is that I ache. Not only are my feet killing me from all this walking, but my neck’s sore. I’ve been trying not to think about why it’s sore, but my mind keeps wandering, catching on memories of Fiend’s stupid pet names and what he looks like when he’s happy.

  I’d do a lot for a sip of Fiend’s special, healing juice, but I know it wouldn’t heal everything. I’ve had a broken heart before, and they take a long time to fade, no matter how much rest and tender loving care you get.

  Last night, while I was looking for someplace to sleep, I passed by a nightclub called “Mean Queens.” If the name wasn’t enough of a giveaway, I caught a glimpse of two guys tongue-fucking on the corner. And I thought about stowing my trash bag somewhere and trying to pick someone up. If the guy took me home, I could catch a shower. But I couldn’t make myself go in. My skin is so grimy; I’m so unclean. No way would anyone have wanted me like this. I don’t even want to have sex like this. And anyway, I already know that fucking random guys isn’t a good way to forget about someone. ’Cause each guy either does the thing you miss, or he doesn’t.

  Right now, with my palm sweating where I grip my trash bag, I chuckle thinking about a hookup licking me as Fiend did. And then I can’t even smile, because my chest burns at the memory of his tongue on me, tasting me everywhere. I’d give a lot to be back in Fiend’s clean bed, safe and warm, food in the fridge. Food, though. Not brains.

  I take a deep breath to try and stave off a sudden wave of nausea, but the humid air makes me cough. Universe, I’m tired. I’m beginning not to give a shit about this stupid courthouse. Maybe I should find somewhere to nap… I squint up into the afternoon sun, and—

  I freeze where I stand on the sidewalk. Am I hallucinating? Is this some kind of heat-induced mirage? Or am I really looking at the side of a pale concrete building?

  With adrenaline chasing away my exhaustion, I dart my gaze around before proceeding any further. A woman in a business suit carrying a briefcase walks up ahead, but it doesn’t look like she’s paying me any attention. A guy on the other side of the street walks with ear buds and a stroller. Would either of these people say “Hi, Boss” to Fiend if he walked by them?

  It’s impossible to tell. But I move behind the building in an effort not to be seen anyway.

  Here lies a pretty little courtyard paved in brick and with a fountain in the middle. Next to it sits a parking lot shaded by maple trees and to my right, the back entrance to the building.

  I ignore the nerves twisting in my gut as I approach the back entrance’s glass door. Small, white letter decals read “CITY HALL. NO PUBLIC HOURS.” Then, under that: “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” Some type of scanner sits above the door’s metal handle. Maybe for a key card?

  I drop my trash bag to the brick and bend my knees, examining the scanner more closely. It’s not plastic like one might expect, but a little rectangle of dark glass. I stroke my thumb across it.

  The rectangle flashes red! “Unable to read thumb print,” comes a feminine robot voice. “Please try again.” The glass flashes red two more times before going black again.

  I swallow, my blood rushing in my ears. There’s no way my thumbprint will work. Then again, this is a fantasy world, and it’s not like I have anything better to try. I press my thumb to the glass.

  “Welcome, Sera,” says the robot voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  The overfamiliar words send goose pimples sprouting all over my body despite the heat, and my scalp goes awash with tingles.

  Okay. This is fine. Not creepy at all.

  The lock clicks, and I pick up my trash bag before yanking on the handle and stepping inside. The door falls shut with a soft thud behind me, and the lock reengages.

  Ahead of me lie yards and yards of gleaming marble. Unlike Fiend’s house, City Hall has windows, even if they are slender and broken up, leaving small, distorted rectangles of sunlight on three sides of the large entrance hall. Floor-to-ceiling, ridged columns break up the space, and up ahead, I glimpse a wall with frames on it, and rays of light that might signify the mouth of a hallway.

  I can’t imagine why Wish has brought me here or what I might find. But emotion clogs my throat as if my subconscious knows more than I do.

  Is Wish…here? If so, why did I have to come to him? Why didn’t he find me? Save me? Has he been hiding here like a coward because he’s afraid of Fiend?

  I real
ize as soon as I have this thought that I’m not afraid of Fiend. Not in the way I should be, for the reasons I should be.

  I look around to make sure there’s no one here, and I don’t see anything or hear a sound. So I move forward, heading for the picture frames.

  When I get to them, I gasp. Wish is in these photos! And there’s his mother, his father, and his little sister with hair just like his. These are the same photos that were in Wish’s house the one time I went there. I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, carrying a backpack like I was about to go camping, but we were getting ready to run. A fellow unregistered special who’d known Wish and me from school had been discovered during his college entrance tests, and we’d figured it was only a matter of time before he gave up our names. If the three of us hadn’t gotten drunk at a party a year earlier and compared powers, I might never have had to go on the run in the first place. I might never have gotten to know Wish as more than an acquaintance, never had to witness him getting high on his leadership role as more and more specials found our little group.

  Strength in numbers is a lie, by the way; numbers mean being found out. But none of that matters now.

  A hallway does open to the right of the picture frames. At the end is a window bigger than all the others, then the beginning of another hallway. Is this a maze? Can I get lost in here?

  The second hallway is dimly lit with thin, vertical fluorescents embedded in the ceiling. Trepidation makes my steps slow, but “authorized personnel” could walk in here at any moment, so I hasten my steps—until a door opens up ahead.

  A woman wearing a white lab coat steps out into the hallway. I glance around, but there’s nowhere to duck. I freeze.

  Luckily, she turns away from me, her back growing smaller as she heads off in the opposite direction. Once she turns the corner and disappears, I step up to the door.

  It stands opaque, painted with a mural of outer space featuring twinkling stars of various sizes, an unfamiliar, blue planet, and a shooting star. Wish upon a star. It’s a bit of a flimsy connection, but somehow, I just know Wish is in there. Or if not Wish, something important that he’s put there for me to find.

  This has a sensor similar to the one at the entrance. I press my thumb to it.

  The sensor flashes red. “Access denied,” says the robot voice.

  Heart pounding even harder, I glance around to see if the woman in the lab coat will come back, or if anyone has heard. No one appears.

  Remembering how pleading worked on the door at Fiend’s house, I turn my attention back to the mural. “Please, Wish. This is where you want me, isn’t it? Let me in.”

  Taking a breath, I press my thumb to the sensor again.

  “Access denied. Access denied.” This time, a blaring alarm accompanies the voice and the flashing.

  I turn and run back the way I came. Soon, boots scuff and squeak against the floor behind me. When I reach the door, the sensor doesn’t do anything at all, and the handle doesn’t turn.

  Rough hands grip my arms. A second individual forces me to let go of my trash bag. I struggle, but as always—every single time—it’s useless. I end up on the floor with a goon’s knee on my back, and I give up sooner than usual.

  The goon behind me cuffs me, then hauls me to my feet. “Call Boss,” he says as he turns me around.

  No less than four goons stand in the entrance hall, decked out in face masks and all black like the goons from that Love house. They all glare at me.

  “Calling him,” says one, a phone to his ear. Only a strip at his eyes shows, but I’m pretty sure it’s Mercer.

  I expect to be hauled to a cell, but instead, everyone stands around. Are they waiting for Fiend’s orders? One goon goes to my trash bag, inspecting the inside gingerly before finally dumping it all out. She kicks at the copies of Wish’s favorite outfit and the half-empty cereal box while the peanut tin rolls a few inches away.

  “He’s not answering,” says Mercer.

  “Message him,” says the guy holding me.

  I close my eyes and try to hold onto sanity. There’s no point in panicking. I can’t do anything now. I’m caught. I’m not in control.

  A part of me—a sad, pathetic part—feels relief. I don’t have to run anymore, don’t have to walk out in the heat. And for now, at least, it’s impossible to escape. It’s four against one, I’m already cuffed, and I’m no action movie superhero. I don’t have to try right now.

  “Alright,” says Mercer, looking down at his phone. “He wants him prepped. Alive.”

  Alive. Like there was a possibility Fiend would want me dead

  But oh, fuck. Will he eat my brain now?

  Despite my rationalizations, panic sets in. And I’m wriggling and writhing in my bonds, the cuffs cutting into my wrists.

  “Hey!” yells the guy holding me. “Calm the fuck down!”

  I don’t listen. And soon multiple goons are on me again, wrestling me back to the floor.

  I end up with my cheek against the cool marble, pinned once more under a knee.

  “Go tell the doctor to get us a sedative. I’m not dealing with this shit,” says the goon on my back.

  I clamp my eyes shut, panting through my nose. Pass out, I tell my brain. Pass out, pass out— I scream and bleed for trying to use my power, and the goon against me jolts, gripping me harder. Despite the pain, I keep silently screaming to my brain: Pass out, pass out, pass—! My whole body jerks as I begin to seize. Then I succumb to darkness.

  Fiend

  It becomes apparent very quickly that having Neisha and Romy in my house at the same time was a bad idea. They are so in love. They were holding hands when I first answered the door, and although they’ve since pulled apart and assumed a professional air, it is impossible to miss the knowing looks shot between them and the lights in their eyes.

  Envy is a witch in my belly trying to claw herself out because I will never have this. Not with Seraphim or anyone else. I am too dark and twisted; Seraphim has shown me this. Both of these women would likely kill or worse if I asked them to, but would they think to do it on their own? I doubt it. No one is as dark as me.

  At the dining room table, I familiarize Neisha with the list of Love plants, their managers and employees, and the production reports. Her brown cheeks flush; she must be overwhelmed. But I won’t throw her onto the job until she’s prepared. I’ll have to take her with me on a few production site visits and see to it that the managers will show her respect.

  Romy wanders about the edge of the dining room, peering into the china cabinets, none of which actually hold china. One displays a multitude of action figures and army men, another board games, still another boxes and chests of varying sizes.

  Neisha’s busy staring at some reports I’ve sent to her phone, her finger in her mouth.

  “Romy,” I say.

  Romy turns around, giving me a bright smile.

  “Would you sit, please?” I gesture to the seat at my left.

  Romy sits and crosses her legs. She’s clad in patent leather shoes, fishnets, a denim skirt, and a neon green pocket tee that matches her hair. Quite a contrast to Neisha’s ponytail and dark, masculine clothing.

  I lean on the table and steeple my fingers. “So. Why do you want to drive for me?”

  “I’ll do anything you want me to.” She’s composed, no signs of nervousness like most of the people I interview. “I just don’t like being at the Love house.” She scrunches up her nose.

  I raise a brow. Far from being offended, I find her honesty refreshing. “Why don’t you like it?”

  “Too much sex. It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Well. I wouldn’t want you feeling uncomfortable. The driver position is on-call, however. Your hours at the Love house are consistent.”

  “Oh, I know. That’s fine.”

  “Great.” I grin. “You’re hired.”

  She smiles back at me. Then her eyes shift onto Neisha.

  There it is. The light. The happy glow. All t
he fluorescents in the dimension couldn’t reproduce it.

  “We really appreciate it, Boss,” says Neisha.

  “Yes, thank you,” says Romy.

  Maybe it’s because my heart’s still in pieces from Seraphim’s departure that such simple expressions of gratitude make the back of my throat tight with emotion.

  I cough to loosen it. “I appreciate all that you—”

  Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo! My phone sounds its alarm. I jump into action, pressing my thumb to its sensor to silence the blaring.

  According to the alert on the screen, someone unauthorized has tried to access a door at City Hall. And not just any door, but the one to Wish’s sick room!

  I hiss, spraying spittle across my phone, and clutch it so tightly my fingers hurt. None of my loyal soldiers has ever tried to access City Hall unauthorized. The intruder must be Seraphim! Wish must have lured him there with his little messages. And whoever Seraphim managed to outsmart to get in is dead. Dead and tortured!

  I get to my feet, scowling and quaking with fury.

  “B-Boss?” says Neisha.

  “Someone is driving me to City Hall.” I put my phone in my pocket. Thankfully, I’m already dressed in my usual uniform and ready to go. “I don’t care which one of you.”

  Neisha and Romy exchange one of their knowing looks, though this time worry fills their gazes instead of love-light.

  “Now!” I bellow.

  Romy hops up and rounds the table then snatches Neisha’s keys. “I got you, Boss. Let’s go.”

  As we head out, my phone rings: Mercer. I ignore it. If it isn’t about the attempted breakin, it doesn’t matter. And if it is? Then I’ll be there soon enough.

  It’s not until I’m settled in the backseat of Neisha’s car, Romy speeding through the city with Neisha shouting directions, that I get Mercer’s message.

  URGENT: Specimen captured.

  Boss, we caught Seraphim unauthorized in City Hall. What should we do with him?

  My nostrils flare as hunger slithers in my gut like a parasite. The time for sulking is over. Seraphim doesn’t want me, and he wants to destroy everything I’ve built and help Wish to snuff me out? I won’t have that. It isn’t going to happen. No, because I’m going to eat him!