Read Online Monstrous by MarcyKate Connolly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: MarcyKate Connolly
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fast through the alleys that I may as well be flying.
I slow as I reach the square with the fountain, now wary of entering an exposed place. I slink through the shadows, losing a feather or two to the rough stone walls. The welcome cool seeps through my wings and cloak to my taut muscles and flaming skin. A familiar scent meanders through the squareâthat of baking bread.
A flush creeps up my patchwork neck and I switch to my catâs eyes. Before I can complete a scan of the square, the boy steps around a column and approaches the fountain. The smell of bread grows stronger.
I freeze, switching back to my human eyes. I will myselfto blend into the black shadows surrounding me.
When he reaches the fountain, he stops and rests something on the rim. The playful cherubs block my view of it. My throat closes. I am trapped. If I move an inch he will see me.
The boy tosses something into the fountain, then runs a finger through the waters. He raises his eyes andâto my shockâmeets mine without flinching and winks. Before I can recover my senses, he bows, then runs off down his usual alley.
All instincts are on alert. Is this a trap? What did he leave at the fountainâs rim? How did he know I was here? I curse myself for my stupidity. Despite my efforts, I have not been cautious enough. I am not good enough to fulfill the mission Father created me to complete.
I am a failure.
I close my eyes, listening to the night sounds and sniffing the breeze to ensure the boy has truly left. The echoes of his steps and his familiar scent fade as he travels away from me.
I breathe out slowly. He saw me. How strange are his manners!
What did he leave on the fountain? Curiosity rears its head, too powerful for me to resist. I must know.
I leave the safety of my shadows and circle the fountain, the cherubs happily spraying me as I pass.
There, on the edge of the fountain, is a perfect red rose. Its scent must have mixed in with the other roses in the area, masking it from me until now.
The boy who smells like bread and cinnamon left me a rose.
I pick it up, wary of thorns and barbs. I press the crimson petals to my nose. It tickles, but smells divine. The warmth on my neck rises to the crown of my head.
I like this flower. I like this boy. Someone working for the wizard would not leave a gift like this. Would they? I must ask Father, I know, but part of me resists. What if he thinks the flower is under a spell? What if he makes me get rid of it? I want to keep it, smell it, and stare at it as long as it lasts.
It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen. That boy left it for me. It is mine. I should not have to give it up.
Perhaps I will tell Father in the morning. Tonight, it is just for me.
A smile creeps over my face and I dip my hand in the water, swirling the images of shining coins at the bottom. I wonder what those are for. Father will know.
I tuck the rose into my thick, braided hair and hurry to the prison.
Tonight, a new pair of guards is posted outside, and I am forced to circle around. I watch their patrol carefully and time my own movements to evade their notice.
On the roof, it does not take me long to pry the shingles up. More shadows than before are posted in the girlsâ room. I count at least five tonight. I toss down the vial of powder and watch the smoky plumes curl around all the bodies in the room, girls and guards alike. Soon they all slumber, and I can go about my business.
I have devised a system for deciding which girl to take each night. I go bed by bed down the line. It is fair and requires less thought.
These girls, they are beginning to unsettle me. While I am grateful not to be a weak child anymore, sometimes I wish I could remember what it was like to be completely human. To have a simpler life, free from the call of duty, and the strange impulsive tugs of animal instinct.
One where I could meet a boy offering roses by a fountain without fear of the repercussions.
As I
I slow as I reach the square with the fountain, now wary of entering an exposed place. I slink through the shadows, losing a feather or two to the rough stone walls. The welcome cool seeps through my wings and cloak to my taut muscles and flaming skin. A familiar scent meanders through the squareâthat of baking bread.
A flush creeps up my patchwork neck and I switch to my catâs eyes. Before I can complete a scan of the square, the boy steps around a column and approaches the fountain. The smell of bread grows stronger.
I freeze, switching back to my human eyes. I will myselfto blend into the black shadows surrounding me.
When he reaches the fountain, he stops and rests something on the rim. The playful cherubs block my view of it. My throat closes. I am trapped. If I move an inch he will see me.
The boy tosses something into the fountain, then runs a finger through the waters. He raises his eyes andâto my shockâmeets mine without flinching and winks. Before I can recover my senses, he bows, then runs off down his usual alley.
All instincts are on alert. Is this a trap? What did he leave at the fountainâs rim? How did he know I was here? I curse myself for my stupidity. Despite my efforts, I have not been cautious enough. I am not good enough to fulfill the mission Father created me to complete.
I am a failure.
I close my eyes, listening to the night sounds and sniffing the breeze to ensure the boy has truly left. The echoes of his steps and his familiar scent fade as he travels away from me.
I breathe out slowly. He saw me. How strange are his manners!
What did he leave on the fountain? Curiosity rears its head, too powerful for me to resist. I must know.
I leave the safety of my shadows and circle the fountain, the cherubs happily spraying me as I pass.
There, on the edge of the fountain, is a perfect red rose. Its scent must have mixed in with the other roses in the area, masking it from me until now.
The boy who smells like bread and cinnamon left me a rose.
I pick it up, wary of thorns and barbs. I press the crimson petals to my nose. It tickles, but smells divine. The warmth on my neck rises to the crown of my head.
I like this flower. I like this boy. Someone working for the wizard would not leave a gift like this. Would they? I must ask Father, I know, but part of me resists. What if he thinks the flower is under a spell? What if he makes me get rid of it? I want to keep it, smell it, and stare at it as long as it lasts.
It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen. That boy left it for me. It is mine. I should not have to give it up.
Perhaps I will tell Father in the morning. Tonight, it is just for me.
A smile creeps over my face and I dip my hand in the water, swirling the images of shining coins at the bottom. I wonder what those are for. Father will know.
I tuck the rose into my thick, braided hair and hurry to the prison.
Tonight, a new pair of guards is posted outside, and I am forced to circle around. I watch their patrol carefully and time my own movements to evade their notice.
On the roof, it does not take me long to pry the shingles up. More shadows than before are posted in the girlsâ room. I count at least five tonight. I toss down the vial of powder and watch the smoky plumes curl around all the bodies in the room, girls and guards alike. Soon they all slumber, and I can go about my business.
I have devised a system for deciding which girl to take each night. I go bed by bed down the line. It is fair and requires less thought.
These girls, they are beginning to unsettle me. While I am grateful not to be a weak child anymore, sometimes I wish I could remember what it was like to be completely human. To have a simpler life, free from the call of duty, and the strange impulsive tugs of animal instinct.
One where I could meet a boy offering roses by a fountain without fear of the repercussions.
As I
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