Sometimes A Monster

By Libby Heily

Grape wanted to save her brother. Instead, she’s put herself and her friends in danger. Starth is unlike any land she’s ever known. Vampires, were-animals and shapeshifters abound, but it’s Starth’s cruel dictator that she fears most. She and her friends are held captive and the only way out is to fight.
Grape will try to unite the warring factions of Starth and spark a rebellion against the dictator. She’s hoping to find a way home; the people of Starth want their freedom. How far will they go to get what they want?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Sep 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781680466478

Libby Heily

When asked why I write, I usually stutter out a made up answer that I can't remember three seconds later. I can't remember the very first time I decided I wanted to write, it's just something I kind of always did. I wrote really bad poems as a kid, then horrible short stories as a teenager and then passable plays in college. I'm an adult now (and nothing you can say can make me change my mind about that) and hopefully my writing has progressed with my age. When I'm not spending my time with made up people in made up places doing made up things - some would call it lying- I'm generally reading, running, watching sports, drinking good beers and eating too much food with the hubby. I'd love to tell you I'm a mountain climber or an astronomer or something cool like that, but I'm not that cool. In truth, some would say I'm nerdy. But the Dr. Who poster above my computer would beg to differ.

Book preview

1

Acloud of dust followed the boys as they raced through the forest. Legs pumping, their lungs nearly bursting, they leapt over felled trees, scraping off bark as they went. Mushrooms slid from their baskets, falling to the lush vegetation below.

Freid jumped gracefully over a large stone. Pamuk pushed himself harder, eager to outdo his brother, but as he jumped, his basket tipped, spilling the mushrooms he’d spent the morning collecting. Wait up! he called as he knelt to recover them.

Freid slowed his pace. He waited for Pamuk to call for him again, knowing that this time his brother’s voice would be high-pitched with fear.

Don’t leave me! Pamuk shrieked.

Freid stopped, satisfied that his brother was sufficiently terrified. He kicked at the dirt with his leather boots, making sure to keep his gaze on the path and not on Pamuk. His brother glanced around anxiously as if he expected death itself to jump out from behind a tree. Most shifters felt comfortable in the forest, but not Pamuk. Freid blamed their parents. They lived deep in the woods, miles from the nearest village, but their parents still feared being discovered. They never let the boys shift into animals or even trees or rocks. Their parents had barely survived the Great Roundup, escaping mostly through speed and luck. Freid had heard many stories of aunts and uncles he’d never met, the ones who’d been captured and killed by Nukpana.

He knew it was safer to stay human as his parents wished, but he chafed against his own skin. His arms and legs felt puny. The chill in the air hit him hard in his human form. He wanted to be fast and strong like the wolf, but spent his days lumbering slowly through the world as a boy.

His parents were right to be scared. The citizens of Starth were under strict orders to kill shifters on sight, the few who remained. Thankfully, he and his brother were too young for the flame tattoos Nukpana had forced on the shifters. The tattoos had long since been replaced by genocide. If his parents hadn’t been careful and smart, they wouldn’t have lived long enough to have children. And now they spent their lives hiding.

Why are you so clumsy? Freid called to his brother.

Pamuk mumbled an answer as he picked the fallen fungi from a tuft of grass. The mushrooms felt spongy beneath his fingers, like dried toads. He glanced up, sniffing. Something new was in the air. His hands froze over the basket as his nostrils flared.

What is it? Freid asked, hurrying over.

Fox.

Freid stood still, searching for the smell. In the distance, a fox’s tail dipped behind a tree. He pulled off his tunic.

We can’t. Pamuk winced as his brother disrobed.

Freid hated the fear behind Pamuk’s words. At nine, his brother’s voice was already far higher than his own and the panic only made it worse. Pamuk sounded like a little sister rather than a little brother. There’s no one around.

Mom said…

Freid’s eyes narrowed. Mom says things all the time. Either you change with me, or I’m leaving you behind.

You wouldn’t d-do that.

Freid wiggled his eyebrows then dropped down to all fours, fur growing rapidly from his skin. Within seconds, he snarled in full wolf form. He gave Pamuk a gentle nudge with his nose. When the boy didn’t move, Freid took off after the fox.

Freid! Pamuk called. He hurried out of his own clothes and dropped to the ground. It took him far longer to change; his brother had managed to do it in seconds. Pamuk promised himself he would start shifting at night as his parents slept. Anything to get faster and not be left behind.

Pamuk took off, following the scent of his brother and the fox. Dirt flew, kicked up by his sharp nails. Trees whizzed by as his legs bent and whipped, propelling him ever faster through the forest.

He spotted Freid, large and shaggy, his gray fur wet now, on the banks of the river. He must have gone in after the fox, but why would a fox jump into the water? As Pamuk drew near, he spotted a fat salmon on the ground by his brother’s paws. Freid had dove in after the fish and was waiting for Pamuk to catch up to share the treat.

Pamuk loved fresh fish and eating in animal form was always more pleasurable than as a human. He’d never eat a raw fish as a boy but loved the squishy meat as a beast.

As Pamuk drew near the riverbed, Freid changed back into his human-self. Pamuk’s heart raced as his brother threw his hands in the air, his eyes wild.

Hurry! Freid yelled, backing into the water, the fish forgotten.

Pamuk pushed himself faster. Something terrible must be behind him if Freid had changed to warn him.

Pain seared Pamuk’s flesh as an arrow drove through his thigh. He tried to run but stumbled, falling to the ground and spinning. His body changed and he lay in a heap—a scared, naked, nine-year-old boy.

Pamuk! he heard Freid call from the river.

Pamuk sat up, wiping tears from his eyes. He tried to change but couldn’t. He faced the forest, looking for his attackers. Two large men picked their way through the trees. Pamuk groaned when he saw their green uniforms. Nukpana’s men. What were Nukpana’s men doing all the way out here? His eyes darted to the large bows they carried, each armed with a yellow-tipped arrow. He knew that the yellow meant asthemite, the only thing in all of Starth that could stop a shifter from changing.

Pamuk glanced over his shoulder and saw Freid waist-deep in the river, ready to turn.

The next arrow bit into Pamuk’s chest. A wooden shaft protruded from his left breast. He touched it, wanting to make sure it was real, that he wasn’t dreaming. He wrapped his hand around the arrow and made to pull it out. His hand spasmed as another arrow pierced his heart. Pamuk fell backward. The blood in his body slowed. From the water, his brother stared, horrified. Pamuk reached for Freid. He’d never seen his brother scared, not like this. It’s okay, he tried to say, but all he could get out was a wet gurgle. He knew the taste of blood, having bitten into many animals when they’d broken the rules and hunted in the forest as predators. The familiar bitter sensation on his tongue made him gag.

Freid disappeared, his body shrinking rapidly into a salmon.

Pamuk closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He hoped his brother would make it home safely, that he would tell his parents that Pamuk had died bravely. When he opened his eyes again, the two men hovered above him. The bearded soldier spat a huge glob of phlegm next to Pamuk’s head.

Damn shifters. Can’t resist changing. Really, this is your own fault, the man said, drawing out his hunting knife.

The soldier leaned down, to cut his throat, Pamuk assumed. But thankfully, his last breath left his body before the knife touched his skin.

2

Grape’s fingernails had grown black with dirt over the past week, as had most of her body. She’d tried to bathe her first few days, but there was never enough water to stay clean and hydrated. In the end, she’d chosen to stay alive.

Musty, wet air filled her lungs. She could no longer smell herself, but she imagined her body fell somewhere between a skunk and a sweat-soaked gym suit. She was tired of being dirty, of never seeing the sun, of being scared.

Where is Buddy?

She glanced again at the small gap beneath the door. Buddy had slid beneath it hours ago, or at least it felt like hours. He’d pestered her for a week to be allowed to scout the dungeon. A week of isolation. Fourteen meals—the only way she could keep track of time without her android pal. Two plates of stale bread and rotting meat each day. Just enough to keep her alive and weak. Fourteen visits from the guard who could crush her with a single blow. If only there were a window. A bit of sunshine, the night sky. But the cell was what she had to work with. Wishing for anything else was a waste of time.

He should be back by now.

Grape twisted the ring, not caring if she dug in hard enough to cut her finger. Open a fresh wound, let the dirt in, let it get infected. It’s what she deserved. She’d led her friends to Starth and now they were all going to die.

But where are they?

They might already be dead. The guard had smacked her the one time she’d been brave enough to ask. She didn’t ask anymore.

Sometimes screams rang out from some pit beneath her cell. She had no idea how deep the dungeon went. It might’ve gone all the way to hell. Maybe they were already there.

Grape glanced at the door again, wishing she’d waited one more day before sending Buddy out. Brad had contacted her their first night in the cell and he was sure to send her another message. Risking the android had been stupid. If Nukpana’s men caught him, they’d destroy him just like they’d killed Mrs. Humphries and Milly. She couldn’t take another death on her conscience, even a robot’s.

Hold on, Grape. We’re coming for you.

That’s what Brad had said in his message; the shadowy image of him that had given her hope. We’re coming for you. But that was a week ago, and she hadn’t heard from her brother since.

Grape forced herself to her feet, yanking at her pants to keep them up. How many pounds had she lost? Ten? Twelve? She didn’t know for sure but she could count her ribs now.

Her knees creaked as she stood. The cell was too damp and she’d stayed seated for too long, keeping her gaze glued to the gap beneath the door. Grape tried pacing to work off the worry, an act easier said than done in a room that could be crossed in four steps. Still, she walked, slapped the wall, turned, walked, slapped the other wall, turned and repeated. The strikes went unanswered. Either the cells on either side of her were empty or the inhabitants didn’t care to communicate.

Slap.

She hadn’t heard from Brad in a week.

Slap.

Nukpana had tortured the twins’ parents into insanity.

Slap.

Where was her mother? Would she end up like the twins’ parents?

Slap.

Could Brad get them out of here?

Slap.

Could she get them out of here?

Slap.

How could she be terrified and exhausted at once?

Slap.

Where was her mother?

Slap.

Was she alive?

Slap.

Lonnie? Xavier? Mandy?

Slap.

Don’t think about Milly. Or Adam. Or Mrs. Humphries.

Slap.

Mrs. Humphries had told her to stay in Sortilege Falls.

Slap.

To stay safe.

Slap!

If she’d just stayed in Sortilege Falls, her friends would all be safe.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

Grape held her hand against the slick wet wall. She couldn’t stay sane in here. They were going to come for her sometime. If the screams she’d heard had belonged to her friends, then why wasn’t she being tortured as well?

And where the hell was Brad? We’re coming for you. Who? Brad, a dead guy and a cat? What the hell were they going to do against Nukpana and his green-geared army? Their grandfather, Ravanuri, was dead. The wizard had been their best chance of escape.

Grape slammed her fist against the wall, sending shooting pains through her wrist. Dammit. She slumped back down to the ground, cradling her throbbing hand. Whatever had snapped would heal quickly. That was one good thing about being a werebear.

Keys jingled outside her door. Girl, get ready, a raspy voice called from the hallway.

Grape sat on the cold, damp ground and scooted until her back was flush against the wall. She thrust her hands beneath her thighs, a slight squeal of pain escaping her lips as her broken wrist bent under her legs. Ready!

The door opened and an enormous man stepped into the room. A thin sheen of dirt covered his skin. The robe he wore was gray, but that might’ve been dust and not the color of the cloth. He smiled at her with his few remaining teeth, most of which had decayed to a dull brown. In one hand, he carried a plate with a bit of food and a wooden cup, the other gripped a truncheon. You stay there, he growled.

Grape nodded but said nothing. If she moved at all, he would beat her and ask questions later. He’d told her as much on his first visit.

The guard set the plate down on the filthy floor. Nice bits today. His laughter echoed off the slimy walls.

Grape screwed up her lips, wanting to shout at him to leave. She wanted nothing more than to turn into a bear and tear his arms from his body. She took quick breaths, the chilly air barely sliding down her throat before she swallowed another gulp. The bear and Buddy were the only weapons she had. She couldn’t use them until there was a chance to escape, for them all to escape.

The guard lunged at her, shoving his truncheon under her jaw. He thrust up, choking her. His thick lips parted in a sneer.

Grape sputtered, trying to take in air. Her hands balled into fists beneath her thighs but she forced herself to remain calm. If she let the bear out now she’d have no surprises to use later.

What is it, girl? the guard asked, his sour breath stinging her nostrils. Making faces at me. Want to fight?

No, she choked out.

The guard laughed again. Spittle flew from his mouth and landed in wet globs on her face. He removed the truncheon from her throat. Don’t know what Nukpana’s saving you for, but I’m sure it’ll be tasty. He winked a watery eye at her and backed out of the room, a sick grin playing on his lips. The door shut behind him and all the gray light from the hallway disappeared, leaving her in near darkness again.

Grape fell to the ground coughing, trying to swallow huge mouthfuls of wet, dingy air.

Goddammit, she muttered as her throat began to heal. She pushed herself up into a seated position. Her fingers grazed her neck, the cool touch helping to dampen the fire within. Grape promised herself that she’d kill the guard if she ever got the chance.

Great. I was hoping to apply for colleges soon and instead, I’m planning to kill a man.

The thought hit her hard. Her life was so different now. The whole world was different. She didn’t know if she could kill someone and she didn’t really want to think about it. Her grip on sanity was tenuous enough without delving into revenge fantasies.

The loathsome guard had asked a good question. What was Nukpana waiting for? She’d expected to be tortured every day. Whatever he was planning to do to her, she’d have to be brave. She was their only chance of getting back to Sortilege Falls.

Grape grabbed her plate, keeping her gaze trained on the gap below the door. Buddy had to come back soon. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. He could play her a video of all he’d seen. He could tell her about her friends and the layout of the dungeon. They would find a way out. They had to. If Brad couldn’t save them, then they’d have to save themselves.

Did they catch Buddy?

A shudder ran through her. She pictured a guard finding the android, snatching him up and dashing him against a wall. The thought of his tiny broken body plagued her mind. She wouldn’t last long without him. Buddy kept her sane. He played her videos, things he’d recorded back in Sortilege Falls. They’d already relived going through the rift and Nukpana’s council chambers multiple times. She’d watched her grandfather kill himself over and over again and her own horrified reaction.

Grape bit into the desiccated brown bread and chewed it thoroughly. They never gave her enough water to actually wash it down. They didn’t give her enough of anything.

She picked a maggot off the only piece of meat on her plate, a thin shred of slimy ham. She held the wriggling larvae to her lips, tempted to try it. It was fresh at least. Her stomach roiled as the maggot bent and stretched between her fingers. She flicked it away, knowing that after a few more days, she’d beg to eat maggots.

The rotting meat smelled like old vomit. Her near-empty stomach flip-flopped but she decided to ignore its warning. She nearly gagged at the taste, but forced herself to chew. She needed to eat, needed the energy.

The meal disappeared quickly and Grape tried to make the water last but the cup was empty soon enough. She lay on the ground and closed her eyes, hoping to sleep until Buddy returned.

That’s when the screams started from the pit below. Grape shut her eyes tight against the sound. She clasped her hands over her ears, but nothing could shut it out. So much pain.

A harsh scream followed by, No! Please stop! Then another yell of pure terror.

Male or female? Male. Lonnie or Xavier? She wasn’t sure. It might’ve been some other poor soul trapped in the dungeon. Someone she’d never met. Or it could be Lonnie. Hadn’t he suffered enough? He’d been attacked once already because of her.

I did this to them. I told them not to come, but I didn’t stop them. Why am I not being tortured? Are we going to die in here? Where the hell is Brad? I’m going to die. Oh my God, I’m going to die. We’re all going to die. Please stop screaming. Please stop hurting him. Please!

Grape opened her mouth and filled the cell with her voice. For one brief moment, she couldn’t hear the other person’s pain. She felt wrapped in a blanket of noise, safe from the outside world.

Sweat broke out on her forehead as flecks of spit flew from her mouth. And still, she screamed.

She had no idea how much time had passed, only that the flecks of spit had turned to blood and her throat ached. Grape lay still, mouth closed. But the screaming downstairs had stopped as well.

Please don’t hurt them again.

Madam Grape, are you okay? a tinny voice asked.

Grape searched the darkness until she found Buddy’s shining eyes. She grabbed him and held him tightly to her, careful not to harm his delicate arms and legs.

Madam Grape. Please don’t break me.

She set him down and looked him over. He stood only eight inches tall. His joints were complex structures made of minuscule parts, parts she’d have no hope of finding in Starth. She searched him for damage, still amazed by how human he appeared. His only nonrealistic feature were his too-large blue eyes.

Buddy! You’re back! Grape said, her voice coming out as an intense whisper.

Madam Grape has tried screaming over the others again, hasn’t she?

It’s fine. My vocal cords heal quickly. What did you find? Where’s my mother? Where are Lonnie and Mandy? Is Patience okay? Did they kill Liam?

Buddy turned to face the wall. It’s best if I show you. His eyes lit up as he projected a video onto the dark gray stones. Madam Grape. Prepare yourself. What I have seen, I cannot unsee.

Trust me, Buddy, I know the feeling.

Grape watched the projection as Buddy made his way out of their cell and down the hall. He passed several closed doors, much like her own. At each one, he peered through the gap below the door. Most cells were empty. A few contained prisoners she didn’t recognize. They were mostly men, skinny and dressed in rags. They might’ve been in there for years, it certainly looked as if they had.

Buddy reached the end of the hall and turned a corner. He walked a long ways without seeing any doors until he reached a stairwell leading deeper into the dungeon. The shot wobbled as he climbed down, slowly but surely. A guard rounded the corner at the base of the stairs. Buddy leapt into a hole in the wall. He sat crouched, peering out as a pair of leather boots passed him by.

I thought he saw me but he didn’t, Buddy said.

You did good. Hiding. That was smart.

Buddy thrust his chest out with pride. The image on the screen changed as he made his way back into the stairwell.

I don’t think I need to watch your every move. Grape didn’t want to hurt his feelings but she was anxious to see her friends.

The image sped up. In seconds, Buddy was at the base of the stairs and heading down another corridor, hiding quickly behind the legs of a bench as more guards passed him. He hurried on, stopping only when he got to a cell with no door, only bars.

Grape gasped. Here were her friends from home, the human ones at least. Mandy sat in the corner, her head buried in her arms. Grape couldn’t see her face but the lacerations on her arms and legs were enough. Deep cuts, red welts, and dried blood.

In the opposite corner sat Lonnie. Poor, broken Lonnie. His face had already been covered in stitches, four gashes given to him by the cat man who guarded Brad. Now, he had so many more injuries. His shirt was gone, his jeans dark with blood. He’d been beaten as well and the pinky finger from his left hand was missing.

Grape twisted her ring. Even that bit of pain did nothing for her. She healed quickly. Why hadn’t they cut off her finger instead?

Lonnie looked bad, but Xavier looked much worse. His face was a mishmash of bruises, bumps, and blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut. His jaw looked crooked, like it had been hit out of place.

Buddy squeezed between the bars, unnoticed by the Models. They each looked lost in their own misery.

Master Lonnie. You are not well.

Lonnie looked down at him with his beautiful, hazel eyes. Buddy! How’s Grape?

Her heart leapt. Even now, he was worried about her. Grape touched his image, tracing his scars with her fingers. Heartbroken and so sorry is how I am.

In the video, Buddy said, Madam Grape is fine. We are trying to locate everyone and find a way out.

No way out, Xavier said through his broken jaw, the words coming out slurred and slow. We die here. He turned his non-swollen eye to Buddy. Tell Grape I’m sorry.

You better be, Lonnie said. The anger in his voice hurt Grape, though she couldn’t blame him. Xavier and Milly had tricked them into crossing into Nukpana’s lair. Milly had intended them to be a gift to the dictator of Starth, and she’d been killed for her troubles. But ultimately, it wasn’t Xavier’s fault they were there, it was Grape’s. It was her brother they’d come to rescue.

I have to find the others, Buddy told them. Do not lose hope.

The video sped up as Buddy left the cell. He passed more bars and lost souls, all of them a blur.

Farther down the hall, Buddy stopped again. Another cell with bars.

Tears fell from Grape’s eyes as she spotted her mother. Deep gouges crisscrossed Dr. Merriweather’s skin, disappearing beneath the hem of the tattered sack she wore. Her hands and face were pressed against the bars, the muscles in her neck bulging as she strained to see down the long corridor. Streaks of blood ran through her hair.

Mom! Grape said, as if the woman on the screen could hear her. She was alive! Her mother was alive and only a floor below her, but her joy was tainted. Grape’s body ached all over. She ran her hand through her hair but only pulled away greasy residue. She wished it was blood. Grape twisted her ring as she prayed to change places with her mother.

On the screen, Buddy called, Dr. Merriweather!

Her mother’s attention snapped to the small robot at her feet. Shhh, she said, squatting down. Get in here, the guards are due any second.

Buddy squeezed through the bars.

Hide, her mother told him.

Buddy didn’t hesitate. He ran to the corner and stood in the shadows.

Grape watched, horrified, as two guards came to