Monstrous

  Dedication

  To my parents,

  for never doubting that if I pursued my dreams,

  I would catch them.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Day One

  Day Two

  Day Four

  Day Seven

  Day Eight

  Day Nine

  Day Ten

  Day Thirteen

  Day Seventeen

  Day Eighteen

  Day Twenty-One

  Day Twenty-Four

  Day Twenty-Nine

  Day Thirty

  Day Thirty-Three

  Day Thirty-Six

  Day Thirty-Eight

  Day Thirty-Nine

  Day Forty-Two

  Day Forty-Three

  Day Forty-Nine

  Day Fifty-One

  Day Fifty-Three

  Day Fifty-Four

  Day Fifty-Five

  Day Fifty-Six

  Day Fifty-Seven

  Day Fifty-Eight

  Day Fifty-Nine

  Day Sixty-One

  Day Sixty-Two

  Day Sixty-Three

  Day Sixty-Four

  Day Seventy

  Day Seventy-One

  Day Seventy-Two

  Day Seventy-Three

  Day Seventy-Four

  Day Seventy-Five

  Day Seventy-Six

  Day Seventy-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  DAY ONE

  I WILL NEVER FORGET MY FIRST BREATH. GASPING. HEAVING. DELICIOUS.

  When I opened my eyes, the colors of the world swarmed me, filling up all space with hues and objects for which I had no name.

  Three seconds later, I passed out from sensory overload, or at least that is what Father says. He fixed me up and when I woke the second time, the world became a more comprehensible place. The object hovering over me was a face, the circles within it were eyes, and the warm, wet drips leaking from them were tears.

  The crease across the bottom that widened under my gaze was a smile.

  “You’re alive,” Father said.

  Even now, hours later, he mutters it still.

  DAY TWO

  I LEAN BACK AGAINST THE WILLOW AND HOLD OUT MY ARMS, STUDYING them under the waning sunlight. The thin red lines marking the sections of my body have faded to nearly nothing; all that remains are the many shades of my flesh and the tiny metal bolts fastening tail to spine, joint to wing, and neck to shoulder, along with a dull ache.

  Father, his silver hair flapping in the summer breeze, lays out logs and strange steel pipes in the field. They will be used for my training. He has not told me what I am preparing for, only that he will when I am ready. He waves when he notices me watching.

  I am sure I will be ready soon. Father is astonished at my progress. Yesterday, I mastered walking within one hour and running in two, and now I can even jump to the lowest branch of the willow with ease.

  Father says his biggest coup is my speech. He managed to preserve that part of my brain, so I talk just as I did when I was human.

  Before.

  My only regret is he was not able to carry over my memories. I know nothing of who I was. Nothing of my mother. Even my memories of Father are out of reach.

  But I do not need them to know how precious I am to him. Every time he looks at me, his face fills with surprise as though I am some kind of miracle.

  I suppose I am.

  The maze of tones on my arms, legs, and torso fascinates me to no end, because my face is only one plain shade of porcelain. Father says I must look as human as possible from a distance, but no one will see my arms or legs under my cloak. When I bore of studying my arms, I tuck my long, dark locks behind my ears and curl my green tail up to get a better look. It has a three-pronged point at the end. A barb, Father called it. He said I need to be careful not to swish too hard or I might sting myself or him.

  I run a finger over the iridescent scales surrounding the hard brown spikes. I rather like the scales. They are lovely in the last beams of the day. I wonder what the barb does, and I tap it ever so gently—

  DAY FOUR

  I SIT BY THE FIRE IN OUR LITTLE RED COTTAGE, PESTERING FATHER WITH questions while I toy with the end of my tail. He dances around the answers, just as my fingers dance around the stinging tip. I am much more cautious now. The venom puts people to sleep. The last time, I pricked my finger and did not wake up for half a day.

  A lesson well learned.

  “Why do you not have a tail, Father?” I ask.

  He gives me the same response he gives to all questions along these lines. “I am not special like you, Kymera. Most people are not. You have a purpose. Your parts will aid you.”

  “How?” I frown at the barb, then shake my tail as if to make it frown back. Instead, the scales glitter in the firelight.

  “I will tell you when you are ready.”

  Frustration warms my face, but when he reaches over and places his hand against my cheek, I lean into the affectionate gesture. I am becoming fond of this place, with its worn wooden walls, high hedges, and rose garden. Even the tower beside the cottage feels like an old friend.

  Mostly I cannot help but stare at Father—the man who made me—and memorize every line and plane of his face. That, too, is nearly as worn as the walls, but radiates a kindness, a warmth that even the fire cannot match.

  A yapping brown dog with sparrow wings skids to a landing by Father’s plush armchair. Pippa. He calls her a sperrier.

  I call her delicious.

  But I am supposed to pass as human, and humans do not eat sperriers or terriers or any other animal they care for as pets.

  Pippa keeps her distance from me, venturing into the same room only when Father is around. I swish my tail in irritation. I am hungry.

  Crash.

  A book falls off the shelf behind me and Father sighs. It is a volume he gave me on my first day of life. Its cover is frayed around the edges, but the words are lovely, full of magic and life and mystery. He calls them fairy tales. They are supposed to be a part of my education. I rise—more carefully—to retrieve the volume. I have not yet gained control over all my parts and it worries him. I return it to the shelf, wiping my dusty hands on my dress.

  I do not want Father to worry. This is the fifth time he attempted to reanimate me and the only time he succeeded.

  I have not yet asked what happened to my other bodies. For now it is enough for me to know I am alive and strong, though perhaps more clumsy than I would like.

  He created me for a purpose—a noble one, he claims—with the tail of a snake, the wings of a giant raven, and the claws and eyes of a cat. Much to his dismay, I have not yet mastered flying, either. But I am rather good at knocking things off shelves.

  Father suffered for me and I hope I can live up to his expectations.

  “Kymera, come sit. You are making Pippa nervous with your pacing.” He pats the chair across from him. Pippa squirms in his arms, as though she is considering taking flight again.

  I bare my teeth at her and hiss as I sit in what I hope is a ladylike fashion. Pippa leaps up to the rafters. I giggle.

  “You should not do that. This is the one place you will find other hybrids. Pippa is a kindred spirit.”

  She whines as though she understands his every word. I roll my eyes.

  “I am better than a puppy with wings. You made me so.” I grow bolder at his smile. “Why did you create me?”

  His eyes soften. “Kym, you are my daughter.”

  “Yes, but what drove you to try over and over? If you cannot tell me my purpos
e, at least tell me that.” I blink, switching from yellow cat’s eyes to my blue human irises. He is more accommodating to my requests when I wear those.

  He sighs. It is working.

  “Most of your human parts come from my daughter. A year ago, a wizard abducted you. Your mother attempted to stop him, and the wizard murdered her in the ensuing struggle. He vanished and only later when he was done with you did I find your body. After that, it became my life’s work to bring you back.” He settles deeper into his chair, and the flames in the fireplace recede to embers. Fury builds inside me. The cat’s irises slide back into place, and the claws in my hands ache to unsheathe.

  “What sort of person would murder the child of a good man?” This question pains Father, but I do not regret asking.

  “Wizards are naturally power hungry, but this one was also driven mad by grief. He lost his own daughter to illness not long before and is so jealous that he steals any other girl who crosses his path and kills her. I suspect he aims to work some sort of dark magic to bring his lost child back.”

  “But how?”

  “Humans may not have magic in them, but young blood is a powerful ingredient in black-magic spells. From what I hear, his magic has only gotten darker since he lost his child, and he needs a steady supply of sacrifices for his spells.”

  “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.

  DAY SEVEN

  “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.

  DAY EIGHT

  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.