Part 16 (2/2)
”My name is Herakles.”
”Bad people,” she whispered.
”Not bad. You're special, and we've been trying to find you.”
”You're ... hurt.” She was staring at the air above him. ”Broken.”
Herakles breath caught audibly. ”What did you say?”
”The ribbons. They're broken.”
I blinked. I'd done my best to cancel out the ribbons around everything to concentrate on what I was watching. I saw what she meant. Herakles had four ribbons, but the colors were tie-died rather than solid, the edges jagged instead of smooth. They appeared to have been st.i.tched together from other ribbons.
Frankenstein. He referred to himself as such on occasion. I thought it was because of his size. I saw the truth now, the confused Franken-ribbons unique to him.
”I can fix them.” Baby Alessandra raised her hands and began to manipulate them, using her fingers to smooth and s.h.i.+ft them.
Herakles staggered and dropped to his knees, releasing her. She rolled free of him with a grunt and then sat up, appearing irritated to have been disturbed before she finished. She continued to manipulate the ribbons until the edges smoothed out and the colors were uniform.
Herakles contorted on the ground as she worked. When she was finished, he fell still, panting and sweating.
”Now we have to save Mismatch,” the girl said and stood.
”Mis ... what?” Herakles struggled to lift his head.
”My gargoyle.” She started towards the house.
”Stop!” he called. ”You can't ... it's dangerous.” With some effort, Herakles pushed himself to his feet and staggered forward before regaining some part of his composure. ”What did you do to me?”
”The ribbons.” She pointed.
Herakles pa.s.sed a hand over his head as if to see what was there then brought his hand before his face. He stared at it before he looked down at his body. ”This isn't me. This isn't who I am.”
”Mismatch!” Alessandra cried.
I circled Herakles. The coldness was gone from his features, and he appeared ... aware where he was mechanical before. He had been broken or at least, not quite right, as little-me said. I didn't understand the source of his Franken-ribbons. Something terrible had happened to him, perhaps in the youth he refused to reveal to me.
”Herakles! The Supreme Magistrate is on the way. We need to get her to the House,” someone called.
His face skewed in response, and he glanced towards the girl making her way up the stairs. Herakles s.n.a.t.c.hed her.
”But ” she started to object.
”Quiet. The bad people are coming. We need to leave.”
He took her out the back gate and disappeared into the night.
The scene faded. I was standing behind the house. The yard was gone, along with the men.
Realizing how tightly my chest was clenched, I bent over and took several deep, steadying breaths.
I was slow sometimes, but even I understood what I'd seen.
Me. Herakles. The forgotten events of the night that changed my life. But was it real?
Yes. I felt it just like I felt the gem at my chest belonged to me, like my grotesque had belonged to me.
Herakles killed my parents. He was going to turn me over to the people he hated most in the world. My protector, like everyone else in my life, wasn't who I thought he was. I ached inside. The man I never thought could disappoint me had turned out not to exist.
”Don't freak out, Lyssa,” I whispered, sucking in air.
Aurora was lining the horizon. With no concept of how time worked here, I forced myself to straighten. Mrs. Nettles was standing in the doorway.
”So, were you ... mine?” I asked as I approached, straining to control the emotions.
She nodded. Mrs. Nettles. Turning, she pointed towards the kitchen.
Not at all certain I was ready to see what happened next, I went.
The grotesque lay in the center, a pool of dark blood beneath him. The ghost Mrs. Nettles was tugging the picket out of his side. I felt bad for her, wanting to tell her no one could survive such a wound except ...
I had seen him. I knew he did. Somehow.
Five ribbons floated around him, one of which was green.
The sun came up, albeit not as fast as it went down, and something even more incredible began to happen.
The monster became human. Its change was silent. Wings melted away, and the athletic, feline body turned from gray to olive-skinned. Dark hair grew on his head, and the talons withdrew into him.
”No!” I breathed. ”It can't be!”
By daylight, the grotesque was Adonis.
”No, no, no!”
But, similar to Herakles, he wasn't the Adonis I knew. He was younger for one, in his teens. When he awoke, his expressions were open and aware instead of cold and withdrawn, his gorgeous eyes warm. He sobbed out of pain, and spoke gently to Mrs. Nettles.
”Is no one who they seem to be?” I whispered, stricken by the sight of anyone in pain. ”He tried to rescue me.”
He's yours. Mrs. Nettles' tiny voice said into my head.
”Mine.” I didn't understand fully what that meant or how this man was the same who slaughtered people right and left, who kidnapped Herakles, destroyed my forest and was universally feared and hated by everyone. What changed? Why had he wanted to rescue me when I was a child and turn me over to the Sacred Triumvirate now?
Confusion was trumped only by helplessness at seeing him hurt. Whatever our past and present, I ached for him strongly enough that tears p.r.i.c.ked my eyes and I resisted the urge to weep. We were connected on a level I had no clue existed but which made his pain real to me.
I wiped my eyes. ”Dream. Memories. Not real.”
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