Monstrous (2 page)

“I was one of those sacrifices.”

Father bows his head.

“Then you saved me.” The emotions swelling in my
chest confuse me. Pride and love for my father, grief for my mother, and a raw, burning hatred of the man who destroyed everything I must have once loved.

“It was tricky work and I could not bring you back exactly as you were. Your memories I could not salvage.” He sighs. “With each attempt, I lost more and more of your original body. I did manage to preserve the speech center of your brain, and words will come back to you as you need them. And most importantly, I made you stronger each time. I just needed to find the right combination of parts.” He brushes his finger over my chin. “When you were human, I always said you were my greatest creation. Now you truly are.”

His expression always contains a hint of pain. I remind him of his wife. My mother. I wish I could remember her. I wish I could remember myself.

Most of all, I wish to claw the heart from the wizard who did this to my family.

He is monstrous.

“AGAIN, KYMERA.”

I growl as I lunge back into the training grounds Father set up for me. I leap over the obstacles, rows of bars increasing in height, then unfurl my wings and swoop down into the maze of hedges surrounding our home. Father says they are for protection against the wizard. We do not want him and his magic to reach us. To travelers on the outside, the hedge and our home are barely visible, concealed by a thick span of pine trees.

But not to me. Now that I am flying well, I have learned the secret routes in and out. I can fly above and see as far as the city of Bryre on the horizon in the east and the green rolling mountains to the west. A river winds through the forest, a sparkling blue to rival the sky. Dots of deeper blue
pepper the far horizon to the north between the large swaths of forest that threaten to swallow everything. Something about the landscape and the city makes my heart swell every time I view them from above.

They are precious to me—or at least they were to the girl I was before. The ghost of that memory haunts me.

I hit the ground at a run and close my eyes. My other senses guide me through the maze. I know it by heart now. The crisp smell of pine from the forest fills my nostrils, but I follow the savory aroma of Father's stew cooking over the fire. My belly rumbles with hunger and I move faster.

If we are not finished training soon, I swear I will eat Pippa in two bites and suffer the consequences.

I slide to a halt at Father's feet and he beams at me.

“Perfect,” he says, stroking my hair. “That was the fastest yet. You will do well, my child.”

My stomach growls again. “May we eat now, Father?”

His eyes glitter. “Soon. You have one more task.”

I swallow my groan. If I do this well Father will be proud. Perhaps tonight he will tell me my purpose at last. I force a smile.

“Now, you must get some practice hunting. You will need stealth and cunning to complete your mission. This will be an excellent place to start.”

“Hunting,” I repeat. My instincts flare at this word, teasing some buried primal urge.

“Go into the forest and bring me a rabbit. We will put it in our stew.”

My mouth waters at the mention of our supper.

Cat's eyes in place, I put my nose to the air as I fly over the hedges and land in the forest proper. Pine and loam, game and fear—these are the smells that greet me.

Father brought home rabbit for my very first dinner, and I remember the scent. I also recall the meat was tender and tasty. All the more reason to do this swiftly.

Flying in the forest is not easy. The trees are close, and the branches grasp at everything in their path. I jog over the leaf-covered ground instead, hoping I can find the rabbit and return to Father before it gets dark. Hunger claws at my belly.

I smell all manner of creatures in the undergrowth and trees, but they flee before I can get close. I realize too late that it is my fast, heedless pace that scares them off.

I will never catch a rabbit if I keep on this way.

I slow, then flutter between the trees. I cannot fly quickly, but it keeps my feet off the ground. The animals will not hear me coming. Is this what Father means by stealth?

Suddenly the warm, fearful scent of a rabbit consumes my senses. My eyes lock on the small creature hopping through the crackling leaves.

Mine
.

My predator instincts guide me on what to do next. I float closer and closer. The rabbit crouches in a hollow at the base of a tree, flattening its body to the ground in an effort to blend in. I hear its heart thump against the damp earth.

I pounce, my teeth tearing into the soft flesh of its neck. A tiny part of my brain cringes, but it is all I can do not to
devour the animal raw right here in the forest. I must bring the rabbit back to Father.

Hot blood dribbles over my chin, staining the collar of my pale green dress. I try to wipe it away with my sleeve but it coats that, too. What will Father say now that I've ruined my dress?

I swallow the bite I took and spit out the fur. The small eyes are no longer lit with the fires of life. A strange surge of hunger and revulsion courses through me. I killed it because I wanted to eat it, but I am no longer sure this is right. I scramble to my feet, panicked. Did Father intend for me to kill it? Or was I wrong? My only thought was hunger, not to kill.

I stare at the limp, bloody creature in my hands. There is no help for it now. I must return.

I walk back through the forest, slower than before. I fear what Father will think when he sees I killed it. But how else would we eat it? He must have meant for me to do so.

I shiver. How will killing an animal prepare me for the mission he has planned?

I am lost in my circling thoughts when I reach the part of the forest where our hedge begins. I brace myself and launch into the air. Father is speaking to a strange man in front of our cottage. How did he get past the hedge? Father never mentioned any human friends.

The stranger's wide-brimmed hat is pulled down over his eyes. I alight on the ground and run toward them.

“Father!” I say, holding up my rabbit and praying I did
the right thing. “I have got it.”

The strange man yells. Father's expression turns from shock to horror to fury in three seconds flat. “Get in the house! Now!”

My smile disappears and I flee inside, flinging myself to the floor by the fire. Tears stream down my cheeks, washing away some of the rabbit's blood.

I chose wrong. I should not have killed the rabbit. I crawl to the window to watch him speak to the other man.

The stranger waves his arms, his tanned face contorted in shapes that make no sense to me. Father shouts back.

Oh, I have done something very bad! Confusion burns through my limbs as I crouch by the window, transfixed by the scene in the yard. The urge to flee tugs at me fiercely, but I have nowhere to hide.

The stranger turns to leave, but Father grabs his arm. The man is much larger than Father, but he calms at his touch. Father speaks to him so low I cannot hear, and when he releases the man's arm, the stranger has changed.

He is now quite happy to stand in our front yard and talk to Father. He even laughs, then takes his leave.

I skitter back to my chair by the fire, all thoughts of dinner forgotten until now. The rabbit rests on the bricks by the fireplace, waiting to be skinned. I hope that is not a part of my training, too.

When Father enters the house, I am relieved to see his expression is no longer the furious one from moments ago. He is back to his usual soft, kind look. I smile tentatively as he approaches.

“You must be more careful, my dear. We cannot have anyone seeing you, not without your cloak.”

“Why?”

“The humans are different from you. What you are will frighten them. When they are frightened they lash out like a cornered dog. I would not have you get hurt.”

“Was that man afraid of me?”

Father chuckles. “Yes, very much. Most humans will not react well to a girl with wings and blood dripping down her chin.” He pats my head and picks up the rabbit. “Excellent work. Though next time, try to bring back the whole rabbit, not a half-eaten one.”

I blush.

“Go wash up and I will finish fixing our dinner.”

I head for the bathing area, but glance back. “Will you tell me my purpose tonight, Father?”

He shakes his head. “No. But you are almost ready. Tomorrow.”

I cannot smother the pout that forms on my lips. I did disappoint Father. I am sure of it. If not, he would tell me what I want to know tonight.

I STAND IN THE GARDEN SURROUNDED BY THE ROSEBUSHES FATHER
planted. I water and whisper to them every day. Some are yellow and pink, others white, but my favorite are the deep crimson blossoms. I practice my words at them the most and I suspect they grow bigger because of it. Everyone needs someone to talk to. I have Father, but the roses only have me.

The door of the cottage squeaks open and I grin at Father. Watching the roses always makes me happy. It does not hurt that today is my final day of training.

Tonight, at last, I will understand my purpose. I am floating at the prospect.

He hands me my cloak. “From now on, my child, you must take care to always wear this when you leave the
safety of our cottage.” He swings it over my shoulders and fastens it at my neck. It catches on one of the bolts, but Father fixes it.

“So the humans will not see the parts that would scare them?”

“Yes.”

“Was it my wings or the blood that frightened your friend?”

Father laughs. “Both, I imagine.”

“I am sorry. I did not know he would be here.”

Father pats my shoulder. “Neither did I. He will not drop in uninvited again. You do not need to worry.”

“Oh, good.” I skip toward the hedge. “What are we doing for my training today?” Each day has brought different tasks. At first, an obstacle course to test my coordination. Then my speed and efficiency. Then hunting. I have not yet decided whether I like hunting. Though I am quite sure I like rabbit.

“Today, we will see how you do with blending in and being stealthy.”

“But I did stealthy yesterday,” I say as we enter the path in the hedge.

“That was with rabbits. Today, we will see how you do with humans.” He takes me by the shoulders. “Humans fear what they do not understand. They will not understand you. They will be frightened if they see your tail or wings, and you must take care to conceal them.”

He adjusts my cloak and I stand up straighter.

“Keep your wings furled close to your back, like a
second skin. Keep your tail beneath your skirts and do not let it slip out for any reason.”

I curl my tail around my thigh. “Like this?”

He holds me at arm's length to inspect me. “Exactly. You always were a fast learner, my dear.” He turns back to the path, but I pause.

“What if someone does see my wings or tail? What should I do?”

He is at my side in two steps, gripping my shoulders hard. “You will do what your instincts demand—then you will flee. Fly straight here before they can follow you. Do you understand?”

Father's eyes have a look I have never seen in them before. Intense. Determined. Yet something there reminds me of the rabbit I cornered yesterday. I cannot help wondering why.

“I understand.”

His grip relaxes and we continue down the path. “Good girl. I knew you would.”

“What will my instincts do in such a situation?” I am afraid to ask. I am unsettled by what my instincts did to that rabbit.

“You need not worry. They will take over.”

“That
is
what worries me.”

“You are not a mere human. You have animal parts and they know what to do. Your barbed tail will neutralize any threat and your wings will help you escape.” He tousles my black hair. “You are the perfect creation. I should know; I made you.”