Pretty Monster Read online

  Well, that just wouldn’t do.

  She might have lost this battle, but she would be damned if she lost every last inch of her pride along with it.

  She froze him in place, adding a layer of pain that sent him writhing. She almost felt bad about it. Almost.

  She turned back to Crowley.

  “Will it kill me?”

  “Kill you?” he repeated, and laughed. “Six years ago, I probably would have gone for it. But things are different now. Regulations, limitations. Your own country might be okay with me killing you, but the UNCODA would never let me hear the end of it. I think it will be enough for me to be known as man who captured the Siren and sent her to Devil’s Island. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Quinn was surprised by his comments about the UNCODA—the United Nations Council of Deviant Affairs, the newest and most aggressive branch of the United Nations. She and the deviants she had encountered growing up had all thought of the UNCODA as an international version of the DCA, charged with capturing the deviants who had fled the States to seek refuge in foreign territory. It provided some small comfort for her, knowing that even if that were true, they were still keeping the DCA in check.

  But none of that mattered in that moment. All that mattered was her final question for Crowley.

  “And Kurt? He’s left alone? As if none of this ever happened?”

  “As if none of this ever happened. I might even throw a chunk of his old man’s money his way, if I’m feeling generous.”

  It was amazing to her, how they all seemed to know her decision before she made it. Despite her reputation as the media’s favorite super villain, it was so easy for them to look at her and just know.

  And, of course, they were right. Kurt mattered more. More than herself. More than anything.

  She unfroze the man with the syringe, closed her eyes, and waited.

  The injection came quickly; the effects, less so.

  For seconds, even minutes, she stood perfectly upright, eyes just as bright as they ever were, still darting from person to person. There was a trace of amusement in her eyes, almost playfulness; she was pleased with herself for not succumbing.

  But then that brightness began to dull; her vision became hazy; she started to sway. And they all learned then that she was not flawless, that she was not invincible.

  She looked over toward Kurt, a sad, loving expression in her eyes: a look that clearly said, I’ll never regret saving you.

  And then it happened.

  “Kill him.”

  Their guns raised instantaneously, the whole lot of them, aiming straight for Kurt, and not a second passed before every single one opened fire.

  She dove in front of him, focusing all of her thoughts and all of her abilities on stopping the bullets. But it didn’t matter, because her abilities were gone; her sight was gone; her reality was gone.

  She crashed to the ground at the same time Kurt did, but her screams were louder.

  And then she was completely silent.

  2. SILOH

  When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was that she was in the air. Not of her own accord—flight was one of the few abilities she still struggled with—but on some sort of aircraft.

  The second thing she noticed was that there was someone touching her.

  “I’m telling you, it’s a waste of your time,” someone was saying, probably to the person with the clammy hands pawing at her stomach with some kind of gauze. “She’s a healer. She would have fully healed already if not for the sedatives.”

  “If she dies, it’s our asses on the line, not yours, Ridley,” the clammy-handed man snapped back. “Just shut up and let me—”

  But the alcohol he attempted to pour into her open bullet wounds burned deep into her like fire, and she shot up so fast, she knocked him backwards.

  “Never touch me again!” she screamed at the man, disgusted by his pudgy, lumbering appearance and even more so by his DCA uniform. She spun around, eyes wide and bright, full strength suddenly returning to her as she scanned the helicopter. She tried to break the handcuffs off her wrists, which normally would be a small feat, but struggled. She didn’t like to think about the kind of technology awaiting her at Devil’s Island if even their handcuffs negated her abilities. Her heart began to pound, and the helicopter began to shake.

  There were three people besides her on the helicopter, she assessed as her eyes darted around the rocky aircraft. Two were members of the DCA. The third was a visibly affected deviant—a monster, as they had been so affectionately nicknamed by the general public.

  He had a surprisingly friendly face, despite the fact that it was covered in scales, and he was the only one looking at her with any sympathy. The other two were looking at her in utter terror.

  Probably because she had half a mind to kill them all—that, and because she was bringing the helicopter down.

  “Quinn,” the reptile man said. She recognized his voice as Ridley, the one who had advised the pudgy man not to touch her. “I need you to stay calm. You’re going to crash the helicopter, and we haven’t reached our destination yet.”

  “Maybe that’s the idea,” she snarled, glaring fiercely at him. “Did you think I’d stroll willingly into Devil’s Island? Hold hands with the men who killed my best friend?”

  He took a step towards her—bold move—but he still didn’t seem threatening. If anything, his presence seemed to calm her. “I understand,” he said. “But there are things you don’t understand. These men weren’t there when you were captured. And the island isn’t what you think. Give it a chance.”

  She could hardly believe her ears. Who cared if the men were there when Kurt was killed or not? They were still DCA agents. They still worked for Cole Crowley. And give Devil’s Island a chance? The place where deviants were sent to be locked up and waste away?

  The helicopter was spiraling out of Quinn’s control at that point—not enough to send her into a panic, but enough that the two members of the DCA dropped to the ground, clinging to the seats, whimpering.

  She had to admit, she was impressed by how well Ridley was doing. He kept one hand rooted to the handhold and his eyes rooted on her.

  “If you want me to trust you,” she asked him, “why am I still in handcuffs?”

  Ridley glanced at the two men as if debating whether to break the rules in front of them. They shook their heads desperately, urging him not to do it. His muscles tensed as he gripped the handhold tighter, deciding. Finally, he pulled a key out of his pocket and came toward her. She waited unflinchingly as he popped the key into her handcuffs and unlocked them. The DCA men’s whimpers became louder.

  “I need you to listen to me,” Ridley said to her in a collected, rational voice, ignoring the men. “We’re a mile from the island. If we crash here, these men will drown. Can you keep the helicopter up? For one more mile?”

  Even if she wanted to help any of these people—the last people on Earth she would want to help—she couldn’t. Her telekinetic abilities weren’t strong enough to singlehandedly control a helicopter; its downfall was the result of her more emotionally charged, elemental abilities. Wind, fire, water, electricity. She could probably subdue the elements enough to buy them a few minutes, but she couldn’t land the aircraft safely.

  But she wouldn’t admit that to anyone, especially someone so closely connected with the DCA. He wasn’t wearing the uniform, but he was still traveling with them, so she gave him the short answer. “No,” she told him, fierce gaze unwavering. “I won’t help you. Any of you.”

  “Look,” Ridley said, impatience starting to rise. He seemed to understand that what she really meant was she couldn’t help them, but he didn’t seem ready to accept that. They were running out of time. “Forget about saving the helicopter. Once we hit the water, we’ll have to swim to the shore. These men won’t make it on their own. I can probably take one of them with me. I need you to take the other.”

  “I said no! They’re lucky I haven’t kill
ed them already. Why the hell would I do anything to help the people who captured me and killed my best friend? Why would I help you?”

  “I told you, they weren’t there. I wasn’t, either.”

  But it wasn’t enough for her. Not now, with it still so raw. Not when she could still see Kurt’s body clattering to the ground, shot repeatedly by men in the same uniforms these men were wearing.

  “And because you’re not who they say you are,” Ridley finished, voice softer, but just as desperate. “You’re not going to let them die.”

  She swallowed, holding his gaze for several seconds, deciding in those seconds who she wanted to be from that point forward. She could break away from the helicopter and attempt to fly or swim or whatever she could come up with to make it back to the mainland. Start over. Keep running. There was nothing left for her; she didn’t even want to go back. And yet, what was her other option? Go to Devil’s Island? ‘Give it a chance?’

  Why did she actually want to take his advice?

  And the men… the DCA agents. Why should she help them? Maybe Ridley was right—maybe she wasn’t the type to let them die. But shouldn’t she be? Why not change? Why not become the same as Crowley, the same as all the wicked people who had done so many unforgivable things to her? Surely Crowley never had to feel half the pain that she did.

  But then the helicopter hit the water, and the brainstorming went away, and all that was left were her instincts.

  The first thing her instincts did was soften the impact—an impact which, she realized as they were all thrown up against the ceiling, glass shattering around them, otherwise would have killed them instantly.

  Ridley grabbed the pudgy man, and she grabbed the other, destroying what was left of the glass to make way for their escape.

  Quinn practiced flying often, but she had never gotten comfortable with it. Hovering a foot or two in the air was easy enough, but anything beyond that was more of a challenge. The higher she went, the harder it got—like the home stretch of a marathon run—hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to focus. She could only assume that it would be twice as hard carrying a body.

  She considered swimming. That was Ridley’s approach, and it would probably be easier. But it would be slow. She could see the island on the horizon, but it was far—farther than she’d ever swam before. Her bullet wounds had almost fully healed, but she was still recovering from her takedown of the helicopter, and she was in no mood to spend the next ten to fifteen minutes gasping for air and dragging a man she despised through cold, choppy water.

  So she flew.

  It wasn’t too hard at first. She stayed slow and close to the water, saving her strength. But then she caught the thickening flames of the helicopter debris in her periphery and glanced over at Ridley in the water, having the same thought as him: explosion. And they both increased their speed.

  It was easier for her than for him, and before long she knew that he wasn’t going to make it. She could see the exhaustion in every stroke he took, the silent panic on his face. She doubled back, grabbed Ridley and the man he was carrying, and pulled them all into the air.

  She was exhausted within seconds; a dozen later, she was so dizzy, she could barely see. But she was closer now. The island was upon her, and even though all she could see was the massive, stone wall stretching around its perimeter, she knew she was going to make it. She just needed to push.

  “Let me go,” Ridley urged her. “I’ve got this.”

  But not a second after the words escaped his lips, the remains of the helicopter exploded, their farthest reaches gusting toward the group and launching them even further toward the island. By the time the momentum from the explosion mixed with the blast of water had finished propelling them, they landed in the water just meters from the shore of the island. The DCA men immediately began to sink.

  “Disgusting,” she muttered as she spit water and smoke from her lungs, reaching down into the water to grab the pudgy man as Ridley grabbed the other. “Can’t even swim and they’re licensed to carry assault rifles and ‘collect’ people.”

  Ridley said nothing as he swam alongside her, grasping for sand and grass as they reached the shore. He coughed up even more water than she had, crawling to the dry land, chest heaving. She rose to her feet as soon as the pudgy man was safely ashore, trying to pass off the entire ordeal as a non-event despite the fact that her own chest was heaving quite a bit.

  Here she was.

  She couldn’t see much, but even the wall itself didn’t seem quite as daunting as she had imagined. Despite how high it stretched, it was almost inviting; old, simple stone, carved and crafted here and there, vines crawling up and down it. The vines came to an end where the stone turned to wood: at the gates. The gates that would open for them when the time came. And then, up above…

  Faces.

  People.

  Not guards. Not prisoners. Just… people. Young, old, monsters, makers. All sorts of people, gathered at the top of the wall, peering down at her. Wide-eyed and eager.

  How could that be?

  She glanced over at Ridley, who was climbing to his feet, but he didn’t look like he was going to give her any answers. Instead, he began to walk towards the gates, gesturing for her to follow.

  She glanced back at the two DCA agents, curious what their fates might be, but she cared even less now than she had minutes before; they were safe from immediate danger, and whatever befell them next, they probably deserved. So she followed Ridley until they were face-to-face with the gates.

  Without a word from anyone on the other side, the gates opened.

  She tried to remain calm, but no part of her felt up for the challenge. Her heart was pounding, her breathing uneven, her skin hot with sweat. Those faces up above weren’t the only ones staring at her. There were people on the other side of the gates. The same kinds of people. Deviants.

  Except… They weren’t in chains. They weren’t in cells. And the expressions on their faces were… eager. Innocent.

  Why weren’t they trying to escape?

  Her confusion didn’t lessen when she saw the island itself.

  It was beautiful. Rich, green, flowered. Full of bright whites and deep browns, wood and brick, picket fences, small cottage homes. Off in the distance, she could see a few taller buildings—three stories high, maybe more. Around them, fields. Trees. Some sort of cell tower. If she wasn’t mistaken, she even saw a horse stable atop one of the hills.

  What was this place? Had she really left a destitute New England for a flourishing Devil’s Island?

  “I told you,” Ridley whispered from her side, sneaking her a small, supportive grin. “Give it a chance.”

  She didn’t return his grin or his gaze, but she found herself unable to ignore his advice. What could she do but walk in? She had no desire to go back to the world she’d come from. And, really, this place was already a thousand times better than she had ever imagined.

  All these faces staring at her… if they were deviants, too, how bad could this place be?

  She began to walk, even though she wasn’t sure where she was going. She had never been much of a follower, and had no intentions of following Ridley anywhere. She might like him by nature, but he was still more or less her captor.

  Most of her audience made way for her as she walked, but some were bolder. A little girl, probably not more than twelve years old, ran right up to her, blue eyes wide and eager. “You’re the Siren!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down at the sight of her. “I’m your biggest fan! I thought they’d never catch you!”

  Quinn ignored her entirely, not in any mood to make new friends, but it didn’t end there. Her next fan was closer to her age, maybe even a hair older. Male. Good-looking in the traditional sense, though by no means a ‘pretty monster’ like herself. He seemed almost as eager as the little girl, though he was trying harder to hide it.

  “If it isn’t the Siren. I have to say, I’m a little disappointed to see you here. But only a little.”
And he winked at her.

  She threw him backwards several feet using only a flick of her wrist and continued to walk.

  She made her way past the extravagant entrance fountain and over to a huge building that read Town Hall before finally stopping to glance at Ridley, who had been following just behind her the whole time. But before she could ask him where exactly she was supposed to be going, someone stopped her.

  She seemed to appear out of nowhere, though on second thought Quinn saw a revolving door to the town hall swiveling to a stop behind her. She was older than anyone who had approached Quinn thus far, probably in her fifties. She had a regal look about her, though not a magical one. She was dressed professionally, conservatively—almost like a politician.

  “Ah,” the woman said. “Quinn Harper. I’m Savannah Collins. We’ve been expecting you.”

  So far, everyone had called Quinn by her media name—the Siren. That, she was comfortable with; everyone knew that name. But this woman knowing her first and last name? That could only mean one thing.

  “Did Crowley tell you about me?”

  “We have many things to discuss, Miss Harper. Mr. Crowley is one of them. But not here. If you hadn’t noticed, you’ve drummed up quite the audience, and I’d much prefer to have this conversation in private.” She took a step back, gesturing to the revolving door she had just come from.

  There was nothing about this woman that Quinn liked, but she was hungry for answers. Besides, the woman didn’t seem particularly threatening. So Quinn followed her through the door, glancing back at Ridley and almost giving him a nod goodbye until she caught herself. Utterly confused, she turned to face the foyer.

  “This is what we call the town hall,” Savannah told her as they walked, “though really it is more of a Capitol. It is the only governmental building on the island. I am the only regular on the island. I work here—as do my sons.” She gestured to two desks in opposite corners of the room. One was cluttered and currently unoccupied; the other was organized and occupied by a man about five or ten years older than Quinn. He had softer, gentler features than his mother’s. Brown eyes, brown hair. Handsome in an unassuming way. He glanced up at them, offering a friendly smile.