This Broken Wondrous World (13 page)

“Wonderful.” Ruthven waved his hand vaguely in Henri's direction. “Do you plan to take your pet human with you?”

“Well?” I asked Henri.

“Werewolves and fugitive brothers in South America?” asked Henri, his grin slowly surfacing. “How could I miss that?”

The Freudian Slip

W
HEN WE LANDED
in Lima, it was humid and cloudy. By the time we got out to the pickup area, I was already sweating from the thick air. I missed the December chill of New York, or better yet, the hard cold of Geneva.

But then, past the taxis and tour buses, I saw a middle-aged, bearded guy in aviator sunglasses leaning against a beat-up old station wagon. He gave a slow, casual wave.

There are just some people that, when you see them, you get a little kick of hope. They just have this air about them that makes everything seems a little more possible. Mozart was one of those people.

“There he is,” I said as I started toward him.

“So this Mozart is a friend of yours?” asked Henri as he and Sophie followed me.

“He introduced Boy and me,” said Sophie. “He's a bit rough around the edges, but underneath it all, he's a complete sweetheart.”

“Don't say that to his face, though,” I said. “He
is
still a werewolf.”

“Well, well, well,” said Mozart, white teeth showing through the brown-and-gray streaks of his beard. “I was hoping I'd get to
see you kids. And you've got a new guy? Ruthven said there was a third, but he didn't say who it was.”

“Henri Frankenstein, monsieur,” said Henri, and offered his hand.

Mozart's bushy eyebrow shot up as he shook Henri's hand. “A human, huh? And a Frankenstein at that. Interesting.”

“Henri's cool. I promise,” I said.

Mozart held up his hands. “Hey, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not a human hater. Never have been. And anyway, this isn't The Show. Or even the States for that matter. Things are different down here. The lines are . . . blurrier.”

He helped us load our suitcases into the back of the station wagon. Then he took the driver's seat and Sophie took shotgun, while Henri and I climbed into the back.

“My friend Maria doesn't live too far from here. If you want we can go there first, have something to eat, and prepare a little. Or we could just cut to the chase and go right for Robert. Your call.”

“Sophie?” I asked.

“You know where he is right now?” she asked.

“The Plaza de Armas. It's a big open town square area.”

“What's he doing?” I asked.

“Same thing he's been doing off and on since I found him a couple of weeks ago. Getting as drunk as possible.”

Sophie's jaw set. “Let's just go get him, then.”

Mozart smiled wide. “Atta girl.”

We drove along a coastal highway, but it was too hazy to see much of the Pacific. On the other side of the road were buildings painted in bright yellows, reds, blues, even a few orange or purple. More than language, those colors were what immediately set Lima apart from beige Geneva and gray New York.

“I could get used to this place,” said Henri. “Do you think we'll be able to stay a while after we take care of Robert?”

“I don't know,” I said. “It would be nice. But I also want to get back to the city by Christmas.”

“I'm just talking about getting a few days of beach and sampling some good Peruvian food.”

“We'll have to see how this goes,” I said.

“You're not worried about Robert, are you?” asked Henri. “They all said he's harmless.”

“He's also totally psychotic. I just can't believe it's really going to be that easy to bring him in.”

“What till you see him,” Mozart called back from the driver's seat.

“That bad?” asked Sophie.

“I hardly recognized him. I do think Boy's right, though. Sometimes the most desperate ones are the most dangerous. Sophie, let's start off with you trying to talk him into coming along quietly. But if things go bad, I want you and Henri to get behind Boy and me. The two of us can handle anything he's got. And who knows, maybe after we pound him a few times, he'll come to his senses.”

“And if not?” asked Henri.

“Well . . .” Mozart glanced at Sophie. “Like Boy said, we'll see how it goes.”

MOZART PARKED THE
car a few blocks from the Plaza de Armas. We walked the rest of the way through the narrow, crowded streets until we came to a big, open square with sections of grass, and paved walkways that led to a large fountain in the center.
The square was surrounded by large, old buildings with decorative balconies, some of them painted a bright yellow, others a faded natural stone.

“There he is.”

Mozart pointed to a massive cathedral on the other side of the square. Splayed out on the steps of the cathedral was a figure clutching something in a brown paper bag. I could make out the familiar curly auburn hair, like Sophie's. But he looked smaller than I remembered.

“How do you want to do this?” Mozart asked Sophie. “Direct approach or take him by surprise?”

“If we're going to have any luck getting him to come peacefully, I think we should make sure he sees us coming,” she said.

“What if he runs?”

“He won't.”

Mozart shrugged. “Let's do it, then. You go in front. Show him you're not afraid.”

With Sophie in the lead, we crossed the street and started walking through the square toward Robert. I really didn't like how many humans were milling around the square, and I wondered if maybe Robert chose this spot for that reason.

We were about halfway across when Robert slowly lifted his head and seemed to notice us. He didn't move from his spot, though.

“I don't like this,” I muttered.

Mozart sniffed the air and his eyes flashed gray and wolfish. “You're about to like it a lot less. Something's coming, and it isn't human.”

“What?” I turned first one way, then the other. “From where?”

“Everywhere,” he said. “It's a trap.”

Out of the crowd of humans stepped a bunch of short, stocky
people with broad shoulders. They all wore the same black hoodies, and had baseball caps pulled low so we couldn't see their faces. They closed in around us, not saying a word. Then one of them reached for Sophie. She knocked his hand away. He made a snorting sound and lifted his head enough that I could see his face beneath the bill. He had beady little eyes, and instead of a nose and mouth, he had a pig snout. Big, yellowed tusks jutted up from his lips. A nearby human saw him and screamed.

“I don't believe this!” Sophie's face was red and angry. “ROBERT, YOU BASTARD!” But Robert still just sat and watched.

“Back off and nobody gets hurt,” I told the pig men.

One of them squealed harshly and all at once they came at us. The humans were yelling and running in a panic, but thankfully they all at least seemed to have the sense to run
away
from us.

The one who'd reached for Sophie tried to grab her again. This time I grabbed his wrist and twisted until I felt it break. Then I punched him in the face so hard his tusks broke and he dropped to the ground. I looked around and saw Mozart grappling with another one, his fangs showing as he snarled.

A pig man pinned Henri to the ground. I took a step toward him, but hands grabbed me from behind. I turned just in time to catch the tusk of one before it stabbed me in the side. Another jumped on me and I stumbled. A third one brought me to my knees.

“Mozart! Henri's in trouble!”

“Busy!” he growled. There were two on him now.

I turned back to Henri. He had managed to get out from under the one pig man, but now there were three of them coming at him from different directions.

“Henri!” I knocked down one pig man after another, but they seemed to just keep coming.

Then a slim figure dressed in black and red ran into the middle of the fight, striking out at the pig men so fast that the movements were only a blur. A moment later, the three pig men dropped to the ground and a woman stood next to Henri. She looked to be in her early twenties, wore a black dress with red ruffles, and had a single red rose tucked into her long black hair. Another pig man approached her from behind.

“Look out!” I shouted, still trying to clear a path through the pig men.

She glanced over her shoulder at the pig man and almost casually kicked him square in the chest with her pointed black boot. He dropped to the ground, making short gasping sounds. She turned to me and nodded a terse thanks.

“Boy!”

I'd been distracted and let a pair of pig men through. Now they were pawing at Sophie, squealing triumphantly. The sight of it set off something inside me and I reached her in a couple of strides. I slammed my fist down on the closest one's head and he dropped to the ground. The other one I grabbed by the throat and lifted up high, showing him to Robert as he struggled and squealed.

Robert nodded slowly, but still just sat there.

“You can put him down,” said Sophie, her hand on my arm. “It's over.”

All the humans had run. All the pig men were down. Mozart, Henri, and the mystery woman were fine. I took a deep breath and let the pig man fall.

The mystery woman prodded one of the unconscious pig men with her boot. “Wild pig people,” she said with a Peruvian accent. “I've never seen them venture outside Brazil. Very strange.”

“Who . . .” I said.

“This is our local contact,” said Mozart. “La Perricholi.”

Henri stared almost worshipfully at his rescuer. “Mademoiselle, I cannot express my gratitude for—”

“I'm sure you could, actually,” she said, looking at him appraisingly. “But now is not the time for pleasantries. The Lima police are not of the gentle U.S. variety. An armored car will be here in a few minutes.” She turned to Sophie. “I suggest you collect your brother before they arrive.”

Sophie nodded grimly, then held out her arm to me. “Shall we?”

She and I walked slowly across the square to the cathedral. As we got closer, I could see just how bad off Robert really was. His curly hair hung lank and greasy in his pale, gaunt face. He looked so thin and wasted, I began to wonder if the reason he hadn't moved was because he couldn't.

“Robert?” Sophie asked, her voice sad. “What happened to you?”

He didn't look at us, but instead stared out across the square with watery eyes. “I thought . . . I could fix it. Fix us.” His voice was weak and rasping, like he had trouble breathing. “That's all I wanted for us, Sophie. Perfection. But it turns out . . . that's impossible.”

“Course it is,” said Sophie. “Perfection's for wankers, anyway.”

He smiled faintly and took a long pull on the bottle he still held clutched in one dirty, raw hand.

“So now what?” asked Sophie after a moment. “Will you come with us? We made it through your little trap.”

“Oh, that wasn't the trap. That was just . . . an assessment. So he would know what he was up against.”

“Who?” I asked.

He looked suddenly at Sophie, his pale blue eyes wide, his
expression miserable. “I'm so sorry, Soph. Really, I am.”

“Sorry about what?” she asked.

“I'm the bait, you see,” he said. “And this . . . this is the trap.”

His eyes suddenly switched from pale blue to a dark green, and he began to change. It was a lot like what I'd seen Sophie and Claire go through, only more violent. His hair fell out and his skin split open, like there was something inside forcing its way out. His limbs stretched out unnaturally longer, convulsing as the muscles swelled and bulged. He let out a shriek of pain that went on and on until suddenly it cut off, replaced by a deep groan. Coarse, patchy clumps of black hair appeared on his arms and cheeks. His teeth and fingernails grew long and pointed. He kept growing taller and wider as he slowly staggered to his feet.

Finally, he stood there, towering over both of us, panting, a toothy grin on his massive face. “Hullo, love.”

“Stephen?” said Sophie, her face drained of color.

“The one and only.”

“How did you—”