This Broken Wondrous World (2 page)

“Do you like it?” asked Elisa.

I turned back to them. All three stood in the doorway. Giselle looked utterly bored, but William and Elisa looked expectant. Worried, even.

“Yes,” I said. “More than I can express.”

Their faces lit up.

“That's wonderful!” said William. “We are so glad. Now, I'm sure you'd like to get settled in. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

“Oh, uh, what's the password for your wireless Internet?” I asked.

“Ah, yes,” said William. “You will want to let your parents know you have arrived safely.” He turned to Elisa, looking unsure.

“Yes, we have the Wi-Fi!” she said. “And the password is . . . eh.” She frowned. “Well, I know Henri wrote it down for me
somewhere. I will find it for you!”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Not at all!” said Elisa. “Now if you will excuse me, I must see to supper. We will be eating at eight o'clock.”

“Great,” I said.

And with that, all three vanished and I was left alone in my new room.

I turned back and looked out across the lake for a while longer, the snowcapped mountains glowing red in the setting sun. There was a moment, just as twilight turned to darkness, when I caught a flash of something way out in the middle of the lake. Or someone. It seemed human shaped, anyway. But it was gone so quickly, I had to wonder if I'd seen anything at all.

I unpacked my bags, but I didn't have much stuff so I still had some time before dinner. I booted up my laptop. While I waited for it to load, I carefully loosened the stitches on the underside of my wrists to expose the USB ports underneath. Then I took cables from the laptop and plugged them into my wrists. My hands were strong, but they were thick and clumsy. No good for typing. So I'd had my mom install USB jacks that connected directly to my nervous system to bypass my hands. All I had to do was think about typing and it happened.

When the laptop had finished booting up, green text flashed across the black screen.

Vi: Hello, Boy. How was the flight?

Vi stood for Viral Intelligence. She was a virtual artificial intelligence I created a little over a year ago. Well, actually she was the second version, which I had created only a few months ago. The first version went psychotic and killed a bunch of
people. That version had started off completely omniscient and able to infect any digital device she came in contact with. I think that was just way too much power for a new consciousness to handle. So for now, this version was limited to living on my laptop and only knew about as much as Wikipedia (which was still a lot). We communicated by chat right now, but she and I were working on some voice recognition software that I hoped would let us talk to each other a little more directly soon.

b0y: Hey, Vi. The flight was long and boring. The stewardess wouldn't give me a beer.

Vi: Studies suggest that people at higher elevations are more easily intoxicated.

b0y: That's what I wanted to test out. Sadly, the law got in the way of science.

Vi: You are joking.

b0y: Yeah, kind of.

Vi: Are you in a good mood, then? Or are you sad? I have noticed that when you are sad you make jokes more frequently.

b0y: Not sad exactly. I don't know what I am. In doubt, I guess.

Vi: What do you doubt?

b0y: Whether I should be here. Whether I _belong_ here.

Vi: Are the Frankensteins unwelcoming?

b0y: No, they're welcoming. Almost too much. It's a little weird.

Vi: Perhaps they hope to make amends for the misdeeds of their ancestor?

b0y: Yeah, I think that's it. I just wish they'd treat me like a normal person, you know?

Vi: But you aren't a normal person.

b0y: Ugh, thanks.

Vi: Well, it's true.

b0y: I know. And I should be grateful that they aren't a bunch of cackling, evil scientists. But still, I feel like I have nothing in common with these people. I feel kind of . . . isolated, I guess.

Vi: Have you met them all?

b0y: No, there's one more. Henri. He's actually around my age. But I think he made a point of not being here when I arrived, so I'm not getting my hopes up.

Vi: Perhaps you will meet other students at the university, then.

b0y: I hope so. I'll tell you one thing I love here, though. This view of the lake from my bedroom is incredible.

Vi: I wish I could see it.

b0y: I could take a picture and you could scan that.

Vi: It's not the same.

b0y: I promise you'll be able to see eventually. _Really_ see. That's one of the reasons we're here.

Liberty, Equality, Fraternity

F
ORMAL FAMILY DINING
was a new concept for me. I'd been living on my own for a little while now, and honestly, I rarely even bothered with napkins. And even when I lived at home, my parents and I almost never sat down as a family and had a meal together. But clearly the Frankensteins were into it.

The dining room table was set with a cream-colored tablecloth and cloth napkins. I was pretty sure the silverware was actually silver and glasses were real glass. Maybe even crystal. The overhead chandelier was dim and there were several candles lit. William sat at the head of the table and Elisa at the foot, while Giselle and I faced each other on either side. Giselle looked utterly bored. As I sat down I gave her a quick, rueful grin, but she just stared back blankly at me. I guess she didn't get the weird formality of all this. And why would she? She probably grew up with it.

When we sat down at the table, there were no plates. I wondered if we were all going to get up and go fill our own plates at some point? Maybe after a prayer? Did the Frankensteins pray? But then a woman I didn't recognize came in with platters and I realized that when Elisa said she was going to “see about supper,” she didn't mean pop something in the microwave. She
meant check in on the cook.

We sat and ate these beautiful, juicy steaks that had been done just right. But I hardly noticed the flavor because I was more focused on trying to remember all the table manners Sophie had drilled into me before I left New York. I could almost hear her bright English accent in my head.
Elbows off the table. Napkin on the lap. Put the knife down when you're not using it. Elbows off. Don't reach across the table. Don't use your hands. Elbows. Both feet on the floor. Bloody hell, keep those elbows off!
At first it felt nice, remembering those coaching sessions. Almost like she was there with me. But she wasn't. She was in LA now, and I didn't know when I'd get to see her again. Maybe Christmas if she could make it out to New York. If she hadn't forgotten about me . . .

The homesickness suddenly crashed down on me hard. I looked around at these very nice people—these very nice
humans
—and I felt like I was in a room all alone with just the quiet clink of silverware on china plates.

“Well, how are you settling in?” asked Elisa.

“It's a really nice room,” I said. “I can't get over how awesome that view is. Maybe because I grew up in an apartment without windows.”

Elisa and William glanced at each other.

“Wait until you see a storm rolling in across the lake!” William dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Truly something to behold. Whenever I am home, I always rush out to watch.”

“He is crazy about those storms.” Elisa rolled her eyes. “He comes back every time grinning ear to ear and completely drenched.”

“What can I say?” William took a sip of his wine. “I am an
admirer of nature!”

“It's funny,” I said. “I thought I saw someone out in the lake right at sunset.”

“At sunset this late in the season?” William looked doubtful. “It would be very cold.”

“It was probably a rock or something,” I said quickly.

“It was the mermaid,” said Giselle.

“Mermaid?” I asked.

“Oh, Giselle!” said Elisa. “How many times must we have this conversation? You are far too old to believe in such nonsense.”

“It's a local folktale the children tell each other,” said William. “They say there's a mermaid who lives in the lake. And if you're out on the lake too late or right before a storm, she'll catch you and gobble you up!” He laughed. “Such stories.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a little laugh. Because carnivorous fish ladies were ridiculous, but reanimated patchwork corpses were totally normal? Didn't he at least wonder if there were other monsters out there besides me and my parents?

“The mermaid wasn't always mean,” said Giselle.

“Hush, now,” said Elisa. “Boy doesn't want to hear your silly children's stories.”

“Actually, I love that stuff,” I said.

“How sweet of you.” Elisa gave me a warm smile, like she thought I was indulging Giselle. I smiled back, letting her think that. But really, this story sounded like it had roots, so I wanted to get some gossip on the neighbors before I met them.

“So she wasn't always trying to eat people?” I asked Giselle.

“No. My friend Katja told me—”

“Oh, Katja?” said Elisa. “Then it must be true, eh?” She winked at me like we were both humoring her now.

“Yes,” said Giselle. “Katja said that a long time ago, the
mermaid fell in love with a fisherman. She made it so he could breathe underwater and brought him down to her home at the bottom of the lake. But he was sad because he missed his family. To try to make him happy, she flooded the part of the city where his family lived so they could all live under the water together. The townspeople were angry that she flooded the town and they tried to kill her. Even the man she loved turned against her. So she retreated to the deepest part of the lake and the waters went back to normal. But ever since, she hates man and tries to catch and eat him whenever she can.”

“Ah,” said William. “Folktales are such fascinating glimpses into past cultural beliefs.”

“Was there really a flood?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, a very bad one a long time ago. Which is probably how this story came about. To explain a natural phenomenon in prescientific times. Now, of course, we know the lake was most likely flooded from glacial melt.”

“Be careful, Boy,” said Elisa. “Don't get the geologist going on a talk of glaciers. It will never end.”

“Oh, is that what your PhD is in?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” said William. “It has always been my passion.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “Growing up next to those mountains could do that to someone.”

“Yeah,” said a new voice from the dining room entrance. “And once upon a time, he even used to climb those mountains, before he got old and lazy.”

We all turned to the sound of the voice. A guy about my age leaned against the doorway. He was tall and thin, with pale skin, brown eyes, and wavy black hair that fell over one eye.

“Welcome home, Henri,” said Elisa. “Typical of you to show up late for dinner but not too late to miss it.”

Henri brushed his bangs out of his eyes and grinned at me.

“I'm so sorry I wasn't here to greet you earlier today.” He had the same soft French accent as the rest of his family. “There I am at a friend's house in Paris, maybe a little hung over, and my phone starts beeping at me that you are arriving in ten minutes. Some use that reminder was, eh? I got on the next train but you know, it's a five-hour ride. Hopefully, my family has not bored you into insensibility before I could rescue you.”

“Henri!” said William.

“Dad, you are talking about glacial melt,” he said.

“Boys, please,” said Elisa. “Henri, why don't you get a plate and sit down with us?”

“Thank you, Mother, but no. My duty is clear. I must rescue our guest from the stuffy confines of Villa Dio-Snotty and show him a bit of the real Geneva before he begins to worry that the entire city is antiques and glaciers.”

“Can I go, too?” asked Giselle, her pale eyes wide.

“No, my sweet sister. I promise you, someday you will join us. But today is not that day. Now . . .” He turned back to me, his brown eyes much like his mother's, but with more mischief in them. “Are you ready to get the hell out of this mausoleum?”

HENRI LIKED TO
drive fast. The cool night air snapped around us as we swerved down the narrow, winding roads in his dad's Porsche convertible.

I'd never been a huge fan of speeding cars, especially after I had a bad accident while trying to escape Sophie and Claire's psychotic brother, Robert. My night vision wasn't all that great and the scattered streetlamps lurched out from behind trees in
yellowish smears of light. I heard a faint crack under the sound of the wind and looked down. I had accidentally broken the handle off the inside of the door.

“Sorry.” I showed the handle to Henri.

He looked at it for a second, his eyes widening. Then he leaned his head back and laughed.

“You did that by accident?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm really sorry, I—”

“Forget it.” Henri waved his hand. “Easily replaced.”

I wasn't sure about that, but there didn't seem any point in arguing so I just put the handle on the floor. Then I leaned back and took a deep breath, trying to relax.

“This must be so fucked up for you,” said Henri.

“Huh?”

“Well, here you are, hanging out with the family who created your parents and then tried to kill them.”

“Twice.”

“Yes, that is right. Victor's son. What was his name . . . ?”

“Wolf,” I said.

“Really?” Henri shook his head. “More proof that Victor was insane. Not that we are much better now. Honestly, I'm surprised you came. Glad, of course. But I would not blame you if you wanted nothing to do with any of us.”

“My family wasn't exactly blameless,” I said. “My dad did some bad stuff, too.”

“True.” Henri nodded. “So why did you come?”

“Well, my dad wanted me to come, and I owed him pretty big.” When Vi 1.0 went psycho and I was trying to shut her down, my dad was the one who pulled me out of the fire. Literally. Fire is one of the few weaknesses that my family has. He and I nearly
died. It took my mom a month to put us back together again.

“So that's it? You're here to make your dad happy?”

“No. I also wanted to go to college and this seemed to be the best way to do it. Maybe the only way. I don't have a Social Security number or any proof of citizenship anywhere, so your parents had to pull a lot of strings to get me into the university here. I still have no idea how they got me a Swiss passport.”

“So you're completely off the grid?”

“Yes and no. I do have a pretty big presence online.”

“Oh, yeah? Do you have a blog or something?”

“I'm a hacker.”

“Like stealing other people's identities?”

“No, no, that's sleazy bullshit cracker stuff. I don't do it for profit. If I did, I could probably pay for college on my own.”

“Why don't you?”

I looked at him. He kept his eyes mostly on the road. But when he did look at me, there was no judgment in his eyes. He was just curious. Fascinated, maybe. I wasn't sure if that was flattering or creepy.

“You can lose just about anything,” I said. “Money, love, health—at one point or another, I've lost all of them. But integrity is the one thing that nobody can take from you. The only way you can lose it is if you give it up. I've been in some pretty rough spots, and sometimes it felt like my integrity was all I had. I'll never give it up.”

“Integrity, eh?” said Henri. “I like the sound of that. It is pretty much the same word in French.” He raised his fist and shouted into the night sky, “
Intégrité
!” He turned back to me and grinned. “That felt good. You should try it.”

“Uh . . .”

“Come on! Don't be shy!”

“Okay . . .” I wasn't sure why I felt embarrassed. After all, it was what I believed in. So I took a deep breath, raised my fist in the air, and shouted, “INTEGRITY!”

“Damn that was loud.” Henri rubbed his ear. Then he laughed again. He seemed to do that a lot. These short, hard bursts of mirth.

“So what do you want to study in college?” he asked.

“Molecular biology.”

“Really? I thought it would be something computer-related.”

“Well, what I'm really interested in is the intersection of biology and technology. I'm already good with computer stuff. So I just need to focus on the biology part now.”