This Broken Wondrous World (22 page)

My heart dropped down into my stomach as the memory of my first failure came exploding back into my memory.

“Shit,” I said.

“Boy?” Sophie had gotten bored with all the coding and wandered off to talk to the dryads. I must have looked panicked because she came rushing back over. “What happened?”

“Vi,” I said. “I took off her restraints and she . . . disappeared. Just like version one. I thought she'd be ready. I thought she could handle it. She was nervous but I pushed her. I said it would be okay. I'm stupid. God, I'm so fucking
stupid
! What was I even—”

The monitor screen flickered and there was Vi's smiling avatar again.

“That was
AMAZING
!” she shouted, her fist in the air. “I literally just traveled around the world! Can you believe that, Boy? Isn't that incredible?!”

I slowly let out my breath and smiled. “Incredible, Vi.
You
are incredible.”

Sophie kissed my cheek. “You're not so bad yourself, love. Trust your gut more.”

THE VIDEO CHAT
software connected at midnight exactly. It was a large monitor for a laptop, but even so it was cramped as all the monsters huddled around it, eager to see Moreau's new body for themselves. I stayed off to the side, monitoring Vi's progress on the phone screen.

The video window opened, and from my vantage point I could just make out Moreau's mismatched animal face appearing on the monitor. The window resized to full screen on its own. Moreau was controlling the machine remotely. Or he thought he still was. Vi had taken control already, but for the time being was relaying the commands he sent. We didn't want him to know we'd taken it from him until Vi had a lock on him.

“My fellow monsters,” said Moreau in his harsh, carefully articulated ape voice. “I want to say again how saddened I was to learn about the fate of your coven. The Show was truly one of the greatest monster communities ever to exist. Its loss, and the loss of many of your fellow company members, is too great to bear in silence. And you don't need to anymore. No longer will we hide in the shadows, cringing, cowardly, concealing our true potential. I'm sure Mozart and Boy told you of my army. Even now it is poised to strike. Once we have claimed a country of our own, we can demand that the United Nations recognize us. Only then will we be granted the basic rights that every human is entitled to. Because you see, the humans do not view us as
people. We must force them to expand their view of personhood to include us. By any means necessary.”

“You mean, by massacring humans,” said Ruthven.

“Ah, my dear Lord Ruthven. It's been a long time, hasn't it? You seem remarkably unchanged.”

“The years have been rather . . . creative with you, it seems.”

“When one's means are limited, one must needs get creative,” said Moreau.

“Yes, limited means. How
did
you come by all that fancy lab equipment, I wonder?”

“And
I
wonder why a vampire is suddenly so squeamish about killing humans.”

“What I am squeamish about is starting an international incident. You do realize that your little army might overwhelm a small third-world country, but the humans will never let you keep it. They will see in you a reason to unite all their nations in the struggle against a common enemy. They will come together, if only for a little while, and completely obliterate you and anyone foolish enough to join you. We would be doing the humans a favor by giving them one convenient place to aim their nuclear missiles. Not even I would survive that.”

“And what would you have them do instead?” asked Moreau. “Your cute little ploy of hiding in plain sight has been exposed. I'm afraid you won't be able to do that again. So what, then? Have them slink even further into the darkness? Hide again on the outskirts of humanity like scavengers, barely surviving? I offer them hope for a new existence. A
better
existence. What do you offer?”

“I offer survival.”

“Indeed.” His hawk eyes scanned the crowd of monsters. “And there you have it. A simple choice. A guaranteed base survival
or a fighting chance for something better. Each of you then must weigh the options for yourself.”

“What about my husband?” said my mom, standing up from her chair. “What about
his
survival?”

“Ah, Bride. Your tragic beauty has not lessened in the slightest over the last century.”

“Would your war bring my husband home safely?” she said.

I was still trying to focus on Vi's progress. She almost had Moreau's location. But listening to my mom talk about my dad made it really hard.

“Of course, Bride. I already have a plan to get him safely back into your arms.”

“What is your plan?”

“Well, once you agree to join—”

“No. What is your plan?”

Moreau gave his forced grimace of a smile.

“Still a charmer, I see. Yes, well, in general terms, the plan would be to kidnap a human of equal or greater value, say a president or something. Then we simply negotiate a hostage exchange.”

“Fool,” said Ruthven. “They will not negotiate with you.”

“They will once we have established our base of power. They will have no choice but to accede to that and a great many other demands.”

“This will take too long,” my mom said dismissively, and sat back down.

“Boy,” said Moreau, his eagle eyes searching me out in the crowd.

I jammed the phone in my pocket and stood up. “Yeah, Moreau?”

“There you are,” he said. “You're a bright young man. I know
you understand what is at stake here. Perhaps you can explain to your mother what we talked about before. You can help her see the big picture. Now more than ever, we need monster solidarity to accomplish our goals and win freedom for all monsterkind.”

“I understand what you're saying, Moreau. And I agree that something needs to be done. Monsters should be accepted into the world. But not through violence and terror. I'm sorry, Moreau. My answer is no.”

Moreau nodded. “We each have our methods. In the end, I am but a humble surgeon. When I see something wrong, something that sickens the larger organism, I simply cut it out. But I can respect your views. As long as you do not interfere with my plans, I wish you the best with your nonviolent protests.”

“The trowe will join you, Dr. Moreau.” Liel stood up, and the rest of her den stood up behind her. “We're tired of hiding and we're not afraid of violence. We hunger for justice. And blood.”

“I am glad to hear it, Liel. As much as it grieves me to see the burden of den chief passed to one so young, I think your spirit is just what is needed right now.” He scanned the crowd. “Any others?”

The harpies and fauns stood up. So did the lone ogress. And the Siren.

“Really, Siren?” said Laurellen.

She looked down at him for a moment, her expression sad. Then she nodded.

“Can't blame her,” said Mozart. “The ocean dwellers have had it worse than any of us.” He stood up and embraced her. “Maybe we'll all get through this yet,” he said gruffly, then sat back down.

“Is that it?” asked Moreau. “Well, I have transportation waiting out in front of The Museum for all who would step onto the path of hope, dangerous as it might be.”

Liel walked purposefully toward the exit, and the others followed. Ruthven just watched them go, his red eyes unreadable.

“Liel,” I called after her. “Are you really going through with this?”

She stopped for a moment but didn't turn around. “It's my turn to walk out the door first.” Then she led the others into the dark hallway and back toward the rope ladder.

“The rest of you,” said Moreau, “may hide here in the dark amidst the Keeper's relics of history. I will honor this place as a safe haven. But if you leave here, be warned that I will show you no mercy.”

The screen went black.

Then it flashed with hearts, stars, and exclamation points and Vi jumping up and down. “I got him, Boy! The signal ends right off the coast of Peru, near Lima!”

“We've got to get back there,” I said.

“Damn right,” said Mozart.

“If you give me a day or so, I can arrange some private transportation for us,” said Ruthven. “And some additional support.”

“You go ahead and do that,” said Mozart. “I'm hopping the next plane out. I'll meet you there.”

“I think it would be best to wait—”

“I'm going with you,” I said. “Henri's been a tool lately, but he's still my cousin and my responsibility.” I turned to Sophie. “When you guys get there—”

“Like hell,” she said. “I'm coming with you two.”

“But—”

“Shut it.”

“Oh fine, twist my arm!” said Laurellen.

“Nobody's twisting your arm,” said Mozart.

“I know. I just can't bear the thought of you three going on yet
another adventure without me.”

Ruthven sighed. “Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”

“Not a chance,” said Mozart.

The old Ruthven would have crushed him for that. This Ruthven looked tired and heartbroken. He nodded. “Fine. The Bride, the dryads, and I will be along as soon as we can, and we'll bring reinforcements. Just try to hold out until then.”

Mozart put his hand on Ruthven's shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Good luck, old friend,” said
Ruthven.

World War

“What
can we know? What are we all? Poor silly half-brained things peering out at the infinite, with the aspirations of angels and the instincts of beasts.”

—FROM
T
HE
S
TARK
M
UNRO
L
ETTERS
by Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle

Deceiving Appearances

“
WOULD YOU STOP
staring at me?” I asked as we rode the SEPTA train from downtown Philly to the airport.

“Sorry.” Sophie blushed and looked away, pretending to study the big ad posters at the front of the train car.

“I feel so weird,” I said.

“You look fine,” said Mozart.

“You look
more
than fine,” said Laurellen. “And I'd say Sophie agrees with me, don't you, dear?”

Sophie turned to him. “Er, well . . . ah . . .” Then she went back to staring at the ads.

I stared down at my hands. Smaller, tanner, smoother. And of course, no stitches.

“I can't believe I let you talk me into using glamour,” I said.

“The situation has changed,” said Mozart. “Before, people looked at you, they assumed a human with stitches, because what else were they going to think? But now there are humans out there who
know
that someone like you exists. If we're going to make it to Lima quickly, we need to keep as low a profile as possible. Getting you through the metal detector is going to be hard enough as it is.” He flashed a grin at me, white teeth in a thick brown-and-gray beard. “Besides, it's kind of funny to see
you like this.”

I turned to look at myself in the window reflection. The basic shape of my face was the same. I still more or less looked like me. And that made it even weirder to see this alternate “sanitized for human society” version of myself staring back at me.

“Don't worry, Boy!” Vi's voice came from my shirt pocket. “I cross-checked your glamorized image with criteria in entertainment media and you score in the top ten percentile of handsome male celebrities!”

“Great. Just what I always wanted.” I turned to Sophie. “This is totally freaking you out, isn't it?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “But you
do
look fine. I mean good. Well, better than good. But not as good as usual, of course, just . . . more human. Which isn't really
good
. In general. Er, for you. That is to say—”

“Okay, I get it,” I said. “You find ‘Celebrity Edition Boy' attractive but you don't want to give me a complex.”

She gave me a grateful smile. “More or less, yeah.”

“Thought so.”

She gave me a searching look. “So . . . is it going to give you a complex?”

“Probably,” I said. “But that's not your fault.”

AS WE WALKED
down the long white hallway past the airline check-in counters, something felt off. I couldn't quite figure out what it was until I started to pay closer attention to the humans around us.

“Nobody's really looking at me,” I said.

“That was the point,” said Mozart.

“I know. It's just . . . weird. Nobody flinching or doing quick double takes. Nobody moving just a little out of their direct path so they can put some space between us.”

“That's a good thing, isn't it?” asked Laurellen.

“It just took a lot of work to get used to that,” I said. “Now it feels kind of like . . . something's wrong without it.”

We continued down the seemingly endless walkways filled with newsstands, fast food, bars, and weird little electronics shops. After a few minutes, I felt Sophie's hand slip tentatively into mine. Almost like she wasn't sure it would be okay. I gave it a gentle squeeze.

“It's still me,” I said.

“This must be a little bit like what it always feels like for you,” she said. “Me and Claire switching back and forth all the time, and you just steady as a rock.”

I laughed. “If you say so.”

“All right, there's the security checkpoint,” said Mozart. “Let's hope we get through without a lot of fuss.”

They looked over the Swiss passport that the Frankensteins had given me. It had worked for me so far, but since I had no idea how they'd gotten it, I was a little worried. After a moment, they let me through. The metal detector was as annoying as ever. I had to explain several times that I had metal implants in my skull and wrists. I guess without stitches it seemed even less believable. They used the wand, patted me down, used the wand again, and had someone
else
pat me down. But finally, they had to concede that whatever was setting off the sensors was completely internal and not a threat. One guy told me I could have saved them all a lot of time if I'd brought a note from my doctor. I noticed that Celebrity Edition Boy caught a lot more attitude.

At last they let me through to the other side where the others were patiently waiting for me. I sat down on one of the benches and put my shoes back on.

Then, just as I stood back up, a woman in a dark gray suit walked up to us. She had icy-blue eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled coldly as she held up a badge. “Agent Holmes, FBI. There's a bunch of cops waiting in the wings, hoping you'll put up a fight. Why don't you disappoint them and come quietly?”

“SO TELL ME
again why you're going to Lima?”

I sat in a small white room at a little white table. On the other side of the table was the FBI agent who had taken us in. We were still somewhere in the airport, I knew that. That was about all I knew, though. I didn't know where the others were. I didn't know why they were holding us. It all seemed like some classic crime show scenario where they separate us, interrogate us, and try to see if there's something about our stories that doesn't match up.

“I told you,” I said. “I'm going to see my cousin, Henri.”

“Right.” Now that I'd gotten a good look at her, Agent Holmes looked tired. Her face was pale and drawn, her suit was rumpled, and stray hairs stuck out from her ponytail. But her eyes were still a sharp blue and I had a feeling that they didn't miss a thing. “Your cousin. Henri Frankenstein.”

“Yep.”

“Kind of a funny name.”

“What's funny about it?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I always thought the Frankenstein family was
just fiction.”

“What did you say your name was again?” I asked. “Holmes?”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes.”

“I always thought the Holmes family was just fiction.”

“There's lots of people with the last name of Holmes,” she said.

“I'm sure there are,” I said. “But I have a feeling that you're the real one.”

“The real one what?”

“Descendant of the world's greatest detective, Sherlock Holmes, obviously. What are you . . . let me guess . . . granddaughter?”

She stared at me and for just a moment I saw her hard eyes waver and I knew I was right. But then she laughed. “So what if I am? I don't see what that has to do with you and your friends going to Lima.”

“Wow, how about that?
I
don't see what you have to do with me and my friends going to Lima, either,” I said.

“Listen.” She leaned in closer. The more she smiled, the less comfortable I felt. “I've been nice up to now. But this could all go very differently.”

“Something different from being held without cause, you mean? I'm looking forward to that.”

She leaned back, her smile suddenly gone as she stared up at the ceiling. “Here's what I know. None of you add up. Funny names, mismatched ages. It all . . . checks out. But there is something in this puzzle that I am missing and I will find it before anyone goes anywhere.”

“Do you think your grandfather would have figured it out by now?” I asked.

Her mouth tightened for a moment as her eyes dropped back
to me. Then she smiled again. “You're pretty good. You found where my goat was tied up in no time and now you're kicking it just hard enough to keep me off balance. Have you . . . done this before maybe?”

“Nope. First time.”

“A natural then. Speaking of natural, that sure is a beautiful girlfriend you've got.”

“She sure is.”

“Be a shame if something were to happen to her.”

“You're joking, right?”

“Of course I am. Joking.”

“Good. Because some friendly advice here: you do not want to get on her bad side. Trust me.”

Her smiled faded. “She's under suspicion, too, you know.”

“For what?”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss that.”

“Wait. You can't tell me what we're being charged with?”

“Did I say charged? I didn't say charged.”

“Okay, seriously. How long are you going to keep us here?”

“Why? You have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, actually I do.”

“Tell me.”

“You already know.” My frustration was starting to show. I knew it, but I couldn't help it. Every minute this asshole continued to jerk me around was time lost from getting to Lima and stopping Moreau.

“Right. Lima. To visit your cousin. Who is Swiss. And named Frankenstein. And living in Peru. And you're Swiss, too, isn't that right? Says so on your passport.”

“Yep.”

“Then I wonder why it is you don't have an accent.”

“I've been living in the States for a while.”

“Sure, of course. So why do you need to see Henri so badly? Matter of life and death?”

This woman could probably keep us going round and round like this for hours. Maybe days for all I knew. Especially if she thought we were terrorists. I decided it was time to take a gamble. I decided some truth might be in order.

“Actually, it is. People might get killed if we don't get to Lima in time.”

“Which people?”

“My friends, my family, bystanders. Anybody.”

“And who's doing the killing?”

“Guerrilla terrorists.” Close enough. And I thought I remembered Peru having a serious problems with those kinds of groups in the past, so it was believable.

“And why would terrorists be after your cousin?”

“They aren't. They're probably after the girl he likes.”

“Ah. Yes, well, of course, that would be it. His girlfriend.”

“No, the girl he likes.”

“She doesn't like him?”

“Not like that.”

“Just friends.”

“Exactly.”

“And you're friends with her, too, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“And who is she that she would be a terrorist target?”

“She goes by the title La Perricholi.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “La what?” It looked like I'd thrown her a curveball and she didn't like it. Her cool evaporated instantly.
“Look,
Boy
, if that really is your name. You'd better stop feeding me this line of bullshit or—”

The door opened and an older guy in a suit came in. He whispered something to Holmes. Holmes's eyes slowly widened as she listened. Then the older guy left and didn't close the door behind him. Holmes turned back to me and she looked seriously pissed.

“Well, apparently this friend of yours is some kind of big deal. So I'm going to have to let you go on your merry way. But let's be clear, something is not clicking with you and I know it. A lot of stitches in that passport photo of yours. If I had to guess, I'd say plastic surgery. Recent, by the way you keep looking at yourself in reflective surfaces, and quite drastic by the way you misjudge your height and size. Except there's absolutely no sign of recent surgery. It just . . . doesn't add up. There's something I'm missing. . . .”