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Things with names didn’t turn up cracked and ground against the rocky shoreline. Things with names survived. He would be a Thing with a name.
Power was sweeter than apples. It was cheaper than water, and sustained the soul twice as well. If Johann was going to be a Thing with a name, then from now on he would be a Thing with power, too.
He cultivated a persona with the dedicated fervour of a character actor: a practised charm that appeared natural, a crooked smile, an easy laugh, spider-leg fingers that snapped and threaded through the air as he spoke. The role became so lived-in and claustrophobic that the effort required to peel back the skin was not worth the reveal. He never took his gloves off.
Monster was the best, his favourite word. The first half was a kiss, the second a hiss.
“You’re not afraid,” he observed. “Why aren’t you afraid?” “Oh. Oh no.” The air whistled through Florian’s teeth as his tone danced along the edge of shrill. “I assure you, I am terrified. You’re quite a fearsome man. But I am afraid of most everything, so I’ve found it useful to evaluate risks with a clear head in the moment and do all my screaming after the fact.”
Johann found something about that attractive: his blood marring that immaculate facade. Florian tried to wipe his cheek, but all it did was smear his mouth with crimson.
I am taking the mathematical shape of you.
“You’re awful,” Florian hissed out between chuckles. “You’re a vile creature.” “Herr Leickenbloom, please.” Johann smiled easily. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m more than vile; I’m an honest-to-god monster.”
A public spectacle of mourning. My childhood tragedy has turned me glacial in the eyes of others. I am trapped in ice, a curiosity in a glass jar.
“Cinnamon-sugar, duckling-sweet, my little honey-flower … what is it, exactly, that you want?” Florian craned back his neck and smiled serenely. He held out his hand and asked, “May I have a knife?”
There was a metaphor in that, Johann thought, about a city consuming itself, Florian knocking back coins like a shot of whiskey, the ink from his equations bleeding into the soil, what there was of it. If only Florian were the type of man who appreciated poetry, Johann could have flattered him to blushing.
“Your eyes are black as the sea,” Florian told him. The words were almost an accusation. Johann breathed a few cautious beats before responding. “That’s sweet, peach. You’re saying that I was made for you?” Florian let out a snort. “Of course not. My hallankind never hatched, and she would hardly have been a thing like you. No, Johann … you belonged to someone far more wretched than I. More deserving of Hallandrette’s pity.” “More wretched is right. Poor bastard never got the chance to use me.”
“I know.” Florian dropped a polished roe into Johann’s coat. “What a perfect and unexpected gift for the child that never grew old.” He rapped a finger against Johann’s chest. “A toy that cannot be broken.”
“You are a sore thumb of a man. Tall as a signpost, thin, and conspicuously unnatural. And yet you are practically translucent.”
“Eyes slide over you,” Florian whispered, dabbing a damp cloth at the curve of Johann’s throat. “Until you put your knife to their jugular. Let’s make you tangible.”
As far as Johann knew he’d been in that cocoon for fifteen years, waiting to emerge as something terrible and lovely.
“Don’t pretend that your melodramatic ego isn’t flattered by the idea that I might exist to soothe your broken psyche.”
Florian’s eyes were full of drowned corpses as he and Johann dined once again with Ansley and his foreign business partner.
“She knows,” Johann said. “That you’re a sorcerer, I mean.” “Oh yes, yes.” Florian waved the words off. “That’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, I’m drunk.”
Florian snickered and leant his cheek against Johann’s rib cage for a moment. Johann thought he was snuggling for warmth, but it turned out that he was just blowing his nose.
Is this it? Johann wondered. The longer fall I was looking for? To know that I was summoned up from the dark ether to do a monster’s deeds for Hallandrette’s truest son? And when our work is done, I will carry him to the bottom of the sea, where we both belong. Deep beneath the silt our bones will turn to salt.
“Throw it against the cliff, and the thing you love most will come back to you,” Johann said, chin close to her shoulder. She did not startle. “I’ve heard that myth somewhere,” she said softly. “That these are eggs laid from the mouth of the goddess Hallandrette, that they awaken when filled with tragedy.” “They’re Elendhaven’s answer to death. No unjust passing goes unpunished here at the edge of the earth.”
“Let me go, or I’ll kill him,” she gasped. “That’d be a poetic way to sign your own death warrant.” “You bluff with confidence, Herr Johann, but I’m not afraid of you. I know what you are.” “And what, exactly, do you think I am?” Johann hissed in her ear. “A homunculus of some sort,” Kanya answered, voice steady with the surety of absolute faith. “You’re born of his blood, and controlled by it. When he dies, so will you.”
