This Broken Wondrous World (14 page)

“My idiot brother thought he'd killed me. But come on. We all know you can't have one without the other. That's why your dear old granddad had to kill himself. And Robbie loves himself too much to do the same. No, all he did was repress me for a while.”

“But how did you get so . . . big?”

“Oh, you like this, do ya?” He flexed his arm, the bicep easily splitting what was left of his tattered shirt. “Turns out, when you repress a part of yourself, lock it away in a dark place for years? All you actually do is make it stronger. And possibly homicidal. Now, if you'll excuse me, love, I think it's time for your boyfriend and me to knock each other senseless for a bit.”

“No, Stephen,” I said. “There doesn't have to be any more
violence today.”

“Oh, but I insist.” Then, so fast I didn't even see it coming, he hit me in the chest, hard. I stumbled back, gasping for air that didn't seem to come.

“You're strong, I'll grant you.” He rolled his shoulders to loosen up. “And fairly fast for your size.” He took another swing at me, almost casually. I barely managed to avoid it. “But you're completely undisciplined. No training, just raw force pounding clumsily away.” He held up both fists like a boxer. “So consider this your first lesson.”

I had just gotten my wind back when he hit me with the left and I staggered one way, then he hit me with the right and I staggered the other way. I swung and he blocked it, then countered with an uppercut. I reeled, my ears ringing as blood dribbled from the corner of my mouth.

A flash of fur blew past me and slammed into Stephen, knocking him to the ground. Mozart, in full wolf mode, stood on his chest, snarling.

Stephen grinned up at him. “Lookin' a little gray around the muzzle there, Wolfie.” He reached up with both hands to grab him, but Mozart dodged, then latched his teeth onto Stephen's thick wrist, drawing blood. Stephen grunted as his face screwed up with pain. But then he grinned again.

“Now that's more like it. A bit of challenge.” He snapped his arm. Mozart's teeth tore deeper as he held on to Stephen's wrist, blood coming out in spurts. But then Stephen snapped his arm in the other direction. There was so much blood, and the skin was so torn and ragged, that Mozart couldn't hold on. He went flying, slammed into the stone wall of the cathedral, and lay still.

“You see?” said Stephen, showing me his torn and bloody wrist. “You can escape from anything as long as you're willing
to pay the price. Are you listening, little Boy? I'm not going to repeat myself.”

“I'm listening,” I muttered, and took a swing at him.

He dodged to one side and brought his knee up into my stomach. Then he brought his fist down on my back and I fell to the ground.

“Now see,” he said, “I saw that one coming a mile away. It's all in the—”

La Perricholi caught him with a roundhouse kick to the temple.

He stumbled, clutching the side of his face. “Oh, La Perricholi! I feel honored.”

“You should,” she said.

He swung at her, but she ducked under his arm and brought the palm of her hand up into his chin. Then she followed up with a chop to his neck, and a kick to his groin. He backed away, hunched forward and gagging.

“There!” he said hoarsely. “That's what training can do for you. She's half your size, half your strength, and she's already done three times as much damage as you.” Then he slowly straightened up and the grin was back again. “Now imagine what her training and your power could accomplish. It might look something like this!”

Then he unleashed a flurry of blows at her. She dodged and blocked everything he threw at her, but he didn't let up. After a few minutes she was dripping sweat, and each time she blocked one of his blows, she winced from the sheer force of impact. Slowly, grudgingly, she lost ground.

“I can do this all day, Perricholi,” he said. “Can you? I doubt it. After all, no matter what they say, I think you're only human.”

She yelled defiantly, jumped straight into the air, and drove both pointed boots into his chest. He fell back, but as he did, he
grabbed her ankles and pulled her down with him. She fell on top of him and he wrapped her in a bear hug and squeezed. She slammed her forehead into his nose with a wet crack. But he only laughed as blood poured from his nostrils.

“God, woman, you should have been a monster!” he roared. Then his arms bulged as he squeezed her even tighter. She gasped for breath, flailing desperately.

By that time I'd managed to get to my feet again. “Let her go,” I said as I stumbled toward him. I had no idea what I was doing, but I had to do something.

He looked over at me with surprise, like he'd completely forgotten I was there. Then he shook his head in disgust. “No, no, no!” He tossed La Perricholi aside, and slowly stood up. “You're not learning anything!”

I threw a punch, but he caught it and twisted my arm behind my back. Then with his bloody, wolf-bitten hand, he just started waling on me.

“I thought you were”—punch—“supposed to be smart!”—punch—“But you blew it!”—punch—“That would have been”—punch—“the perfect time”—punch—“to catch me unawares!”

“Oh, like this?” said Claire. She grabbed his torn, bloody wrist, spun him around, and punched him in his broken nose.

“Hurrah!” He smiled through the mass of blood. “Claire Bear came out to play!”

“You still talk too much,” she said, and hit him again.

As I struggled to get back on my feet, brother and sister fought. He was bigger and stronger, but the injuries and blood loss had slowed him down. Still, he was landing almost as many punches as she was, and his did a lot more damage. After a minute or two, it looked pretty clear who had the advantage.

“You could be this powerful, too, you know,” he said to her between harsh, bubbly gasps of air. “Don't ask for permission, just take it from her. There's nothing she can do about it.”

“Never,” she said, also breathing hard. “We do it together or not at all.”

His lips curled down into a sneer. “And that's why I win.”

Then with a sudden burst of energy, he knocked her arms aside and slammed his fist into her face so hard she pitched back and fell to the ground.

Inside me I felt something snap. The pain, the dizziness, the exhaustion, all disappeared along with everything else. There was only him and how I was going to crush every bone in his body.

“Oh, ready for more?” he said when he saw me coming. “I thought you were do—”

I slammed into him. Maybe he was hitting me but I couldn't feel it. The only thing I could feel was how good it sounded when the meat of my fists rammed into his face over and over again.

“Yes!” I heard him yell. “Why have you been holding back? Here is a monster! At last, a true monster among you!” Then he laughed joyfully.

It only pissed me off more. I clasped both my hands together, ready to bring them down and smash his skull.

But then he shifted and shrank, and suddenly the object of my rage was gone and I was staring down at Robert, just as wrecked and bloody, but less than half the size.

“You . . . win . . .” he said, then passed out.

He was so small and broken and pathetic that all the fight drained out of me. Then all the pain came flooding back in and I almost passed out myself. But I heard police sirens and someone
calling my name. I looked up and La Perricholi was shaking me. There was a massive bruise on her forehead.

“We have to go now!” she shouted. “I've got the old wolf. You get the others, then follow me.”

I nodded dumbly and looked down at the bloody lump of Robert.

“I've got him, cousin,” said Henri.

“Henri . . .” I said, trying to keep my thoughts together. “You're okay . . .”

“I wish I could have helped more. All I could think to do was get Vi to delay the police for a while.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “It was awful seeing him hurt you all.”

I shook my head. “It's okay. We . . . did it. I think. Didn't we?”

“Yes, but Vi has held the police off as long as she could.” He picked up Robert and hoisted him over his shoulder. “Get Claire and let's go!”

I nodded stupidly and stumbled over to where Claire was struggling to rise.

“I got you,” I said as I picked her up and cradled her in my arms.

She looked at me with glassy eyes. A gash on her forehead dribbled blood. “You look like shite.”

“You look beautiful,” I said.

“You're concussed.”

“Lovebirds, you can kiss later!” called La Perricholi. She held Mozart in her arms. He was still unconscious, now in human form and naked. “This way!”

With Claire held tight to my chest, I followed her and Henri down a side street, where a large, dusty red van with tinted windows waited. La Perricholi threw open the back double doors. The inside was empty. She carefully laid Mozart inside. A lot less
carefully, Henri tossed in Robert. Then he helped me with Claire. I sat down heavily on the floor of the van, still cradling Claire in my arms, as Henri closed the doors. I was vaguely aware of them both climbing into the front of the van and starting the engines. As the van began to move, I slipped slowly into unconsciousness.

The Gathering Storm

“
THERE NOW, HE'S
coming around,” said a woman's voice.

I opened my eyes and found myself in a soft bed in a quiet room. Sun streamed in from an open window and I could hear birdsong outside. Smiling down at me was a woman who looked a lot like La Perricholi, except older, maybe in her fifties. She even had the rose tucked into her black-and-gray hair.

“Where . . . ?” I said hoarsely.

“You're safe.” Her Peruvian accent was a lot thicker than La Perricholi's. “This is my house.”

“Who . . . are you?”

“You may call me Maria. La Perricholi brought you and your friends here so that I could take care of you.”

“Claire.” I started to sit up and pain shot through me from about ten different places.

“She is fine,” said Maria. “In fact, they are all in much better shape than you. Well, except the one who started the trouble in the first place.”

“Robert? Is he . . . ?”

“He'll live.” She didn't sound too thrilled about it.

“So where is everyone?”

“Down at breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, you've been unconscious since yesterday.”

“Wow.”

“That's what happens when you get hit in the head so many times,” she said scoldingly.

“Well, I couldn't exactly help that.”

“You could have ducked.”

“Okay, sure . . .”

“Are you hungry? Would you like to join your friends? I made tamales.”

“That sounds great.”

I climbed out of bed, moving carefully so I didn't make the aches and bruises worse.

“Why do you go so slow?” asked Maria. “Are you an old man?”

“Uh, no, but I'm kinda beat up.”

“Your injuries are not serious.”

“Yeah, they seriously hurt though.”

“Ha!” She gave me a scornful look. “Embrace the pain. It means you are still alive.”

“This is your bedside manner?” I asked.

“I nurse injured warriors, not sickly invalids. Which are you?”

Obviously, it had to be choice A and not choice B. So I gritted my teeth and climbed quickly out of bed.

“Good.” She nodded with satisfaction. “There is hope for you after all. Now, follow me.”

MARIA'S HOUSE WAS
massive. Probably about as big as the Villa Diodati. But where the Frankensteins had lots of old breakable stuff and antique furniture in dark, brooding colors, Maria had lots
of bright paintings, metal sculptures, and rich, colored fabrics. It looked nice without feeling oppressive.

I forced myself not to wince at every step as she led me down a flight of stairs. At the bottom was a big, open kitchen.

“It's alive!” said Claire.

She, Mozart, and Henri sat at a wooden table in the next room, digging into steaming-hot golden tamales.

“Hey, nice stitches,” I said. In addition to a fading black eye, she had a small, neat line of black thread running down from the outer corner of her eye to her cheekbone.

“Thought I'd give your look a try,” she said. “What do you think?”

“Hot.” I was pretty sure she was joking, but I actually wasn't.

“Good to see you up and about,” said Mozart. “You took a real beating.”

“Bah, he is young. He recovers fast,” said Maria, coming over with a large pitcher and filling up his coffee mug. “But you, old wolf. What do you think you were doing?”

“What I had to,” he said, taking a bite of tamale.

“Ha,” she said, turning to go.

“Oh, come on.” Mozart reached out and lightly touched her arm. “You can't stay mad at me forever.”

She glared at him, muttering something in Spanish.

“
Por favor
, Perricholi,” he said, batting his eyes and grinning his wolfish grin.

She sighed and stroked his bearded cheek. “
Aie
, you will be the death of me yet, old wolf. And you mustn't call me La Perricholi. That is Camilla's title now, by right. I am too old for such things.” She yanked on his beard until he winced. “As are you!”

He took hold of her hand and kissed it. “You'll always be La
Perricholi to me, señora.”

I turned to Claire with a questioning look.

She rolled her eyes. “Since we got here, they've been like this.”

“Kids, you mind your business,” said Mozart, but he was still smiling as Maria walked back to the kitchen.

“Where is La Perricholi?” I asked as I sat down at an empty chair. “Or I guess Camilla?”

“Sorry, that was my bad,” said Mozart. “Call her La Perricholi. Unless you want another sock in the jaw.”

“Got it,” I said. “So is she here?”

He shrugged. “She's off doing whatever La Perricholi does. Fighting crime or something these days, isn't that right, Maria?”

Maria came back in holding a plate piled with tamales. “Fighting crime?” she said as she put the plate in front of me. “She is not some superhero vigilante inflicting law and order like . . . eh, the Batman.”

“No?” asked Mozart, sounding skeptical.

“She is a champion of the people, not of the law,” said Maria.

“So she is like Robin Hood?” asked Henri.

Maria and Mozart exchanged a look.

“Something like that,” said Mozart. “Anyway, she'll be back. And it's not like we're going anywhere right now. Robert's in no shape to travel.”

“Where is he?” I asked. I took a bite of my tamale, which was packed with some sort of spicy chicken and tasted like the best thing I'd ever eaten in my life.

“Healing,” said Maria.

“Is he secured? I know he looks weak, but if he shifts—”

“I am aware of his nature,” she said. “He and his brother will not be able to escape or harm anyone at present.”

“I just can't believe how far gone Stephen is,” said Claire.
“Especially since he was always the more stable one of the two.”

“Robert more or less imprisoned him for years in solitary,” said Mozart. “That's enough to make anyone crazy.”

“What did he mean when he said you could be as powerful as him if you took it from her?” I asked. “Take what?”

“Sophie and I share the same life. By nature, I suppose, Jekylls are givers and Hydes are takers. I just naturally have more of our life than she does. It's why I'm bigger and stronger. But I'm always careful I don't take too much from her. My granddad got greedy, took too much and upset the balance. Which is why Jekyll killed them both.”

“And Stephen did the same thing to Robert?”

“More even.” Claire shook her head. “Look, I'd be the first one to say that Robert is an arsehole, but right now he's barely more than Stephen's puppet.”

“So why did he turn back to Robert?” I asked.

“Maybe to get you to stop punching him,” said Henri.

“Could be,” said Claire. “I also wonder if Stephen actually can't be out for long. Like if he took any more Robert, Robert would die, and take Stephen with him.”

“I still want to know what the whole thing was about, though,” said Mozart. “Robert made it pretty easy for me to find him. I assumed it was because he was barely functional, but now I'm not so sure.”

“Robert is near death and Stephen is homicidal,” I said. “I think we can still file them under barely functional.”

“Stephen may be homicidal, but I got the feeling he'd orchestrated our meeting very purposefully. I think he wanted to be found and he wanted Claire and Sophie, and maybe even Boy, to come down here to collect him.”

“Yes,” said Maria. “Why would he go through all that trouble
to lure you down here, just for a street brawl?”

“Good question,” said La Perricholi. She stood in the doorway, her dress torn, her knuckles bloody, her dark eyes sparkling. “Let's go ask him.”

“SO . . . WHY DO
you have a jail in your basement?” I asked La Perricholi as she led Claire, Mozart, Henri, and me down a set of stone steps.

“Some of my predecessors used it to temporarily house criminals before turning them over to the police,” La Perricholi said.

“So there was some truth to that Batman comment, then?” asked Claire.

“
Predecessors
,” said La Perricholi. “
I
am no lapdog of the government.”

“Of course not!” said Henri. He still had that same awed expression he'd had when she'd saved him from the wild pig people. Not that I blamed him. She was beautiful and awesome in that classic badass chick kind of way. But I had a feeling Vi wouldn't be pleased.

“Here we are,” said La Perricholi.

It was a decent-sized room with a bed, table, and chair. There was also a sink and a little toilet in the corner. If you ignored the fact that the entire room was enclosed by thick metal bars, it looked almost like a hotel room.

Not that Robert was enjoying it. He lay in the bed with his eyes closed. His nose and wrist were bandaged and he had an IV attached to a saline drip. He had beads of sweat on his forehead and his breath came in harsh grunts.

“He refused pain medication,” said La Perricholi.

“Why?” asked Claire.

“I needed to be clearheaded for this conversation,” said Robert quietly.

“So winding up here, beat to hell and at our mercy, was all part of your master plan, huh?” asked Mozart.

“
My
plan was to drink myself to death,” said Robert.

“But that's not part of Stephen's plan,” said Claire.

“No, it's not,” said Robert. He stared at her for a moment. “Can you . . . bring Sophie out? I . . . want to see my sister.”

“No,” said Claire, her voice hard. “I don't think I will. She doesn't want to talk to you, anyway.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Out with it then, Jekyll,” said La Perricholi. “You've got us all here. What message do you have from your brother?”

“It wasn't supposed to happen like this,” said Robert. “Stephen and I were sent here to find allies, not make enemies. But Stephen decided to test you first, to make sure you were worthy.”

“Worthy of what?” asked Mozart. “Who sent you?”

A smile appeared on Robert's bruised, split lip.

“Dr. Moreau.”

Henri was looking at me and Claire, probably hoping someone would fill him in. I didn't even know Moreau was a real person. I could tell by Claire's expression that she didn't, either. La Perricholi's face was a mask of smoldering cool, which seemed to be her default for everything. But Mozart looked like he'd just been slapped.

“Mozart?” I asked. “Do you know Dr. Moreau?”

“Heard of him,” said Mozart. “But . . .” He shook his head. “No, it's impossible. Even if . . .” He turned to Robert. “You're lying.”

“Moreau is alive and free from his imprisonment.” Robert
turned to La Perricholi. “Those pig men that were with me were not the wild pig people of Brazil. They were created by Moreau and sent with me and Stephen to assist in recruiting you.”