Monsters

by Katie May

  “I either make potions for my clients, or they come to me.” He shrugs his shoulders, one hand snaking up to ruffle his hair. “Being a scientist is in my blood, I suppose.”

  His blood?

  From what I heard, Frankie is a product of one of Frankenstein’s experiments, not a blood relative. I don’t dare ask him, though, as he pulls out a stool and gestures for me to sit down.

  Once I’m settled, he leans against the counter next to me, eyes intent as they trace my face.

  “What?” I ask, bringing a hand up to rub at my mouth. “I still have something on my mouth, don’t I?”

  Fucking hell. I talked to Cheryl like this.

  Frankie’s lips twitch, and he nods. “Just a little.” Eyes hesitant—cautious—he reaches for me. When I don’t shy away, he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away the remainder of my breakfast. My heart flutters in my chest at the contact.

  Clearing my throat, I ask against his thumb, “What’s on the agenda today? Fairy drugs? Happy gas? Boob transplants?” My voice turns bitter at the last suggestion. For a reason I don’t want to look into, I hate the prospect of Frankie touching another girl’s boobs.

  At the same time, I know how important Frankie’s work is. Sure, a lot of the students use his services to get bigger breasts or a thicker penis, but what about the people trapped in their own bodies? Frankie’s providing them with an opportunity to be themselves. For the person who identifies as a man to have a working penis. I’ll be damned if I allow my jealousy to get in the way of the good he can be doing.

  Frankie smiles softly, as if he understands the reasoning for my suddenly sharp tone.

  “Hair removal,” he says, removing his thumb from my lips and turning back towards the counter. He scribbles something on the pad of paper before grabbing a bottle of some strange, yellow liquid.

  It sort of looks like pee.

  “I’m very selective about my clients,” he says conversationally. “I haven’t taken on any body part transplants or enhancements in a month, and I don’t plan to without talking to you first.”

  In a month.

  Since I arrived.

  My heart flutters even as my confusion grows. It almost feels as if he wants my permission. I can’t deny that makes the green monster inside of me feel better, but I don’t understand why he feels the need to ask me first. Is it because I’m his first true friend, or is it for another reason?

  He isn’t blushing at his statement. He speaks as if it’s a known fact, as if it’s common sense.

  Knowing that awkwardly laughing isn’t appropriate in this situation, I swivel back and forth on the twisting stool.

  “So, did you want to be a scientist just because of your dad? Or is it something you wanted as well?”

  He freezes, pen hovering over the paper, and his back stiffens. I immediately wish I could take back my question. Obviously, it’s a touchy subject.

  Way to go, Violet.

  After a moment, Frankie relaxes, but his head doesn’t lift from where it’s tilted over his pad of paper.

  “Nobody ever asked me that before,” he says softly.

  “Well, I suppose I’ll be your first.” My cheeks instantly flame when I realize how my words can be construed.

  I could totally be his first.

  Oblivious to my slip, Frankie shrugs before his face turns thoughtful. “I guess I don’t really know. Ever since I was younger, it was drilled into my brain that I would be a scientist. A doctor. It’s all I’ve ever known.” His shoulders hunch. “But I like it. I like...creating things. Fixing them. It’s the one thing I’m good at.”

  “I’m sure you’re good at a lot of things,” I protest quickly. Once more, I’m gifted with that rare twitch of his lips I’m beginning to crave.

  “Do you want to help me make the potion while we wait for my client?” he asks, nodding towards the vials and beakers. I nod my head eagerly, jumping to my feet.

  The next fifty minutes consists of Frankie teaching me what each jar is and how to properly measure the ingredients. He explains which ones to mix and which ones should never touch. He even allows me to create my own potion designed to enhance eyesight.

  He’s a surprisingly patient teacher. He painstakingly walks me through each step, hand guiding my own.

  Remember those obnoxious butterflies? They’re back with a vengeance. I need to start taking bug spray to them if they keep this up.

  It’s only when the fifty minutes are up—and we have to get to class—do I notice the furrowing of his brows.

  “Everything okay?” I ask gently as I remove the gloves he made me wear. He smiles softly, reassuringly.

  “Yeah, fine. I’m just surprised my client never arrived. She hasn’t missed an appointment yet, and we have one every week.”

  Unease clenches my stomach. Another student disappearing?

  “What’s her name?” I ask, nibbling my lower lip. Are we going to find another body? Another female drained of blood?

  When Frankie frowns, hesitating, I raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? You meet with her every week, and you never bothered to learn her name?”

  His cheeks turn red, and he ducks his head, flipping to one of the pages in his notebook.

  “It didn’t seem relevant,” he admits, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “But her name is Marie.” He points triumphantly to the name scribbled in unintelligible scrawl. I roll my eyes.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute,” I mutter, and his cheeks burn even brighter.

  “You think I’m cute?” he asks as we climb the stairs and exit back into the hall teeming with students. He freezes suddenly, eyes narrowing on a petite female leaning indolently against the wall texting on her phone. I hurry to keep up as he stalks forward. “Maria,” he addresses curtly, and her head snaps up.

  “Marie,” I correct around a fake cough.

  “You’re looking rather hairless this morning,” he says suspiciously, and I resist the urge to cough again and warn him that’s not the way to talk to females. “I missed you at our appointment today.”

  Marie shrugs one shoulder, eyes lowering back to her phone.

  “Found a new supplier,” she says dismissively.

  Frankie’s left eye twitches. Literally twitches.

  “Who is this supplier?” he asks through gritted teeth. Something in his tone causes her head to snap back up and her face to drain of color.

  “Um…Mikey,” she admits sheepishly. I don’t know who this “Mikey” is, but Frankie’s face goes even darker, hands curling into fists.

  “Mikey,” he repeats in a cold voice. Marie nods.

  “He set up a shop in the basement of the cafeteria. Cheap products.” The bell rings, indicating the beginning of the first class. Marie stares at Frankie for a moment longer before hurrying down the hall, periodically looking over her shoulder as if she expects him to follow her.

  Without a word, Frankie storms out of the academic building and towards the path that leads to the cafeteria. I hesitate only a moment before following behind. Hopefully, Ms. Stevens won’t be too upset if I skip her class.

  Shit is going down, and I’ll be damned if I miss it.

  Chapter 28

  Frankie

  If I was a dragon, I would be spouting out fire from my nostrils and mouth.

  There’s a certain calmness to my anger, something that lurks just beneath the surface. On the outside, I’m calm, if a bit impassive. On the inside, I want to set the world on fire. Watch it fucking burn.

  Mikey is stealing my clients.

  Mine.

  The deep-rooted betrayal grows in my stomach, climbing up my throat until all I want to do is scream. Instead, I keep my face perfectly blank.

  He’ll pay for what he’s done.

  “Frankie! Wait!” a familiar, angelic voice calls from behind me. That voice is accompanied by the soft thumping of footsteps followed immediately by a muffled curse. I turn just as Violet scrambles off the ground—where she had no doubt fac
e-planted. The movement pulls up the tantalizingly short skirt she loves to wear, revealing a flash of creamy white thighs.

  My cock hardens, and my anger towards Mikey momentarily dissipates.

  She’s so beautiful that it’s a physical pain. With her golden hair haloing around her face and dirt smearing her cheeks, I’m utterly smitten. My tongue feels like cotton in my mouth; thousands of words come to mind, but I can’t find the will to speak any of them. All I can do is stare, enraptured. Captivated.

  “So what’s the plan?” Violet asks, scampering up to stand beside me and linking her arm with my own. “Do I need a tarp?”

  I blink at her wordlessly, wondering what the hell goes through that pretty little head of hers.

  “A tarp?” I repeat blankly.

  She nods seriously. “To catch the blood.”

  My heart warms exponentially. Before I can stop myself, I press my lips to her head.

  Both of us freeze. My breathing is labored, and I don’t dare look at her.

  Why the hell did I do that?

  Heart racing, I detangle my arm from hers and take a step away. Distance. I need distance. She’s as addictive as the drugs I love to sample. If I don’t stop soon, I’ll never be able to. Her intoxicating scent. Her luscious curves. Her sparkling eyes.

  Everything about her calls to me. If I wasn’t certain she was a vampire, I would believe her to be a siren or succubus.

  I think I see a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but it’s soon replaced by her normal, jovial spark.

  “So, what’s the plan?” she repeats.

  We reach the now empty cafeteria, and I open the door for her to enter. A delicate blush stains her cheeks as she slips through.

  “I’ll handle it,” I assure her, my anger manifesting once more. I feel...betrayed. I’m not used to the onslaught of emotions assaulting me. “Are you sure you want to be here with me?”

  She gives me a look that makes me feel instantly chastised.

  It doesn’t take long to find the door leading to the basement. I step in front of Violet instinctively as we descend the long staircase, automatic lights flickering on overhead with each step.

  When we reach the bottom, all I can do is stare in horror. Violet releases a startled yelp.

  It’s not a sterile lab in the normal sense. Sure, I spot an operating table, a collection of beakers, and a few expensive pieces of machinery, but that’s where the similarities to my lab end.

  This?

  This is a fucking sex club.

  The low, hypnotic music combined with the flashing colored lights heighten the sexual environment. Bodies are everywhere—fucking, sucking, and...peeing.

  I have the sudden urge to cover Violet’s eyes against the penis assault.

  Mikey sits on a chair near the back of the room, dark skin flickering in the artificial lighting. In front of him, two girls are kissing passionately, kneading each other’s bare breasts and tweaking their nipples. At his feet, a male sucks his cock.

  “What the fuck?” Violet exclaims, echoing my own thoughts. The familiar scent of unicorn magic—otherwise known as lust magic—permeates the air.

  Grabbing Violet’s hand to keep her with me, I stalk past the twitching bodies and straight up to Mikey.

  “What the hell?” I ask Merlin’s son with barely veiled contempt.

  The man currently sucking his cock pulls his head up, licking the...errr...cum from his lips. For a moment, I don’t recognize the eyes glaring daggers at me from where he’s perched at Mikey’s feet.

  Until I see his dick.

  It curves around his hip in a move that shouldn’t be possible, saluting me.

  No, saluting Violet. My Violet.

  A low growl starts low in my chest, but I pull my gaze away from the cock I created and face Mikey’s smug, triumphant grin.

  “Frankie! Here to join in the festivities! I’m surprised, honestly. I didn’t think you were into this kind of thing.”

  “What the hell is this, Mikey?” I ask, risking a step closer. The girls—perhaps sensing the tension thrumming in the air—scurry away. Mikey watches them leave in disappointment before turning to me with a quirked brow.

  “Whatever do you mean?” he asks.

  “Frankie,” Violet whispers. “It’s twitching.”

  Her eyes aren’t on me, but on the forked cock that is, in fact, twitching like a snake tongue.

  “Stop looking at it,” I hiss, possessiveness and jealousy rearing its ugly head. I don’t understand why, and I don’t dare look too closely at it.

  “I want to say thank you,” Snake Cock says snidely, moving to sit back on his heels to face us. His cock unwinds from around his waist, once more pointing up at Violet. The two halves of it begin to slither and twist like coiling snakes. “I thought you fucked up my life with your failed experiment. But the girls actually really, really like it in their cunts.” He punctuates this statement with a wink at Violet.

  I glare, moving to step in front of the shell-shocked female.

  Whose gaze is still fixed firmly on the cock with a mixture of horror and wonder.

  “It’s like two mini cocks,” she whispers.

  “Why are you stealing my clients?” I address Mikey. “We were friends. I gave you a cut.”

  Mikey is a skilled and powerful mage—no surprise given his lineage. For as long as I can remember, he has been a part of my business, providing supplies and magic for my experiments.

  “You gave me twenty fucking percent,” Mikey hisses. “Your experiments would be nothing without my magic. I deserved more than what you offered me.” He leans back and nods towards his dick. Snake Cock immediately leans forward once more to suck it.

  I really, really don’t want Violet looking.

  Mikey groans in satisfaction, clasping his hands behind his head, elbows bent.

  “It’s...it’s wrapping around Mikey’s dick,” Violet whispers in horror. One of the halves of Snake Cock’s dick is curling around Mikey’s, tugging.

  It’s the strangest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and I made that cock.

  Ripping my gaze from the demented sight, I glare at Mikey.

  “So you decided to take one hundred percent,” I deduce.

  “I decided to take your measly business and create an empire.” He spreads his arms out to encompass said empire—the thrashing bodies, flickering strobe lights, and thumping music.

  My anger strengthens at his words. He turned my business, my hard work, into a fucking joke. I pride myself on being level-headed and calm, on controlling my emotions.

  But I’ve never wanted to punch someone as badly as I do him.

  I won’t, of course. It’s just not in my genetics to engage in physical combat. I wouldn’t call myself a pacifist, per se, but I’ve been programmed to resist the allure of violence.

  Violet lets out a strangled gasp, and I immediately drop my gaze to the forked cock, wondering what captured her attention this time. When I see nothing out of the ordinary—the cock still wrapped around Mikey’s like a snake choking its prey—I turn towards Violet.

  Her gaze is drawn to the corner of the room, mouth parted in shock. Mikey makes a strange noise in the back of his throat as he follows her gaze. His face pales dramatically.

  A rage I have never felt before trails an icy finger down the nape of my neck to the middle of my spine. While my previous burst of anger had been white hot, fiery, this one is icy. A coldness seeps into my very bones as my vision funnels.

  Standing against the wall, dressed in a bikini top and thong, is Violet.

  Or, a version of Violet.

  Mikey had fucking cloned her.

  Before I can say anything, Violet storms towards the vacant eyed creature. Her face is turning purple the closer she gets, and her tiny hands are in fists.

  “What the hell is this?” she demands, spinning on her heel to face a still naked Mikey who’d followed us. Forked Cock, thankfully, has remained behind, eyes fixed firmly on Violet’
s ass. I’ll deal with him later.

  Mikey rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, almost as if her discovering his fucked up clone is a mild inconvenience.

  “I can explain,” he begins in a hurry.

  “Is that a leash?” Violet continues, aghast. “Is she some sort of dog?”

  “Don’t!” Mikey warns, but it’s too late.

  Dog, apparently, is a programmed word in the Violet Clone’s vocabulary. To my horror, the creatures drops to her hands and knees and begins to pant, sniffing around our feet.

  “What. The. Fuck?” Violet asks slowly, carefully, and Mikey blanches as yet another command is unintentionally issued.

  At the word fuck, the Violet Clone drops to her back, hands and legs in the air.

  “You made me a sex toy?” Vi asks dangerously.

  Mikey holds up his hands pleadingly. “Let me explain.”

  “What is there to explain?” she demands. “You made me into your fucking bitch!” The dog version of Violet Clone appears once more as she sniffs the ground and barks happily. “I feel violated and disgusted!” Violet Clone lifts up her leg to pee on Mikey’s leg—a fact that fills me with great satisfaction. “Stop!”

  The Violent Clone immediately stops.

  “What other words did you program me...her...it with?” Turning towards the sex toy, Violet says, “Simon says put your hand on your head.”

  The toy places her hand on her head.

  “Simon says Jump.”

  The doll jumps.

  “Master.”

  At this, a long whip materializes from the clone’s robotic hand, and she cracks it against the ground. Violet glares at the creature, more annoyed than angry.

  “Simon didn’t say.” She pauses, tapping her finger against her chin. “Simon says blowjob.”

  At that, Violet Clone scrambles to her knees, and her jaw drops to just above her chest, the movement so unnatural and grotesque I have to look away.

  Violet’s eyes are wide with terror.

  “What type of cock are you putting in me?” she asks in horror, gaping at the big fucking hole.

  “There’s a market for these toys,” Mikey says in a rush. “Dracula’s daughter. The sexy blonde vampire. It’s nothing personal. Just business.”