The Monster of Elendhaven

by Jennifer Giesbrecht

For a long time, he didn’t have a name. What he had were long white fingers that hooked into purses and a mouth that told easy lies.

He would be a Thing with a name.

A creature newly named is a creature still half-animal,

Forcing a lot of other things, too,

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.

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.

Johann liked killing. He appreciated that every part of the killing act was a function of instinct, that any thinking person is only a breath away from an animal. A half creature with no name.

The ground swallowed him up, and the crunch of his neck against rock reverberated through every joint in his spine. It shuddered through his limbs and popped out the tips of his fingers and toes, a tiny earthquake that made ruin of his bones. He lay absolutely still for ten minutes, and then he stood up and wrenched his skull back into place. “Well,” he said aloud. “That was fucked up.”

When the watchman took another shot, Johann accepted a round in the clavicle, whooping like a jackal as he jammed a knife into the man’s throat.

Monster was the best, his favourite word. The first half was a kiss, the second a hiss.

“I know what you are” was the first thing Johann said to him, his palm braced against the brick and his knife tucked into the hollow of Florian’s throat as if it were made to fit there. “And I want what you have.”

said, “Once I climbed the tallest tower I could find. You know, that Geltic Cathedral in the middle of town? I got right up to the top of the steeple and I jumped, just to see what would happen when I hit the ground.” He flattened his palm against the arm of the couch and made a squelching noise to demonstrate. “What I found is that I was still hoping for a longer fall.”

He said, “What else but put all the cheques in balance.”

Florian covered him with a pale blue sheet and he lay beneath it, muzzled and quiet in the sorcerer’s hand until his bones became a part of the house.

up. It was going to devastate his body so completely that it probably wouldn’t even hurt until he was almost healed. His mouth was watering, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Johann spent the afternoon throwing himself into the ocean, dashing himself against the rocks like a shipwreck.

“Yeah, well, if that’s all you wanted, you just had to ask, honeydew. You don’t need to add three plus six to get me out of my clothes.”

It took just this—a few well-placed words, a lack of tact—to discover that he lost his breath when he giggled, covering his mouth politely like the girls from the convent school. Johann jounced to his feet and offered Florian a hand.

Florian did not forget Johann’s business proposition. “If it’s unwise for me to go out alone,” he said, with a shrewd, feline smile, “I suppose that from now on I shall have to take you with me.” He trussed Johann up in cobalt and silver and brought him about on his daily chores.

“I’m sure Eleanor has been treated with hospitality as lovely as our weather.”

Neither Ansley, nor the Ambassador, nor Eleanor, nor the long-nosed man in white took notice of Johann, so he—skulking behind Florian like his sharp-toothed, long-boned shadow—focused on the shape and slant of Florian’s shoulders.

tragedy has turned me glacial in the eyes of others. I am trapped in ice, a curiosity in a glass jar.”

surface. Johann didn’t know any of the stories behind the statue, but he always found it strange that the Queen of the Sea should be carved to look as if she were drowning.

“I am not sitting on those stones,” Florian groused. “This coat cost three hundred marks.” “You are a delicate bauble.” Johann snickered.

skin. The thing knelt beside it for minutes, maybe hours—it had been difficult to tell the difference between the two before he had a name—and tried to imagine the circumstances that had caused its body to stop working.

but the weight of disease was inconceivable. A body betraying itself.

said, And please, try not to make me an accessory to murder. Magnanimously, he flipped the sailor over with the toe of his boot and let him dead-float towards the shore. A fifty-fifty chance, he told himself, that he’d wake up before the water settled in his lungs.

sniffed. “You are a creature of base instincts. I suppose I could believe it. Would you hand me the syringe, please?” If only Florian knew how base. Johann’s gloved fingers brushed against Florian’s as he handed him the brass needle.

Johann had to clutch a hand to his throat to keep the flash of affection that rocked through him caged in his esophagus where it belonged. Oh, Florian was a pretty little thing. Too pretty, too aware of the length of his eyelashes and the feminine tilt of his jawline. No one would expect that boyish half smile, that nervous wringing of the wrist, to conceal a monster. Monster, Monster, Monster, Johann said to himself, the first half a kiss, the second a hiss.

“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.”

Johann didn’t like to leave fingerprints, or to touch things that were alive, or to be touched back. Still, he wondered what Florian’s skin felt like once the greasepaint was smudged off.

They looked like a pair of legs, spread-eagle. Johann eased them apart salaciously, stroking his thumb down the long curve of the upper thigh. Florian caught his little jest—Johann made sure of it. When he winked, a flash of lucid pique lit Florian’s face up like a bolt of lightning. It lasted about that long, too. Florian took a wide step across the track so that he could—subtly—kick Johann with the heel of his boot as he passed.

Johann smiled to himself as he used the calipers to lever a railroad spike free from its mooring.

Florian didn’t answer, or pay Johann any mind. That was an unacceptable state of affairs, so Johann leant an elbow on the crown of Florian’s head. His hair was so light and fine that it required only a bit of mussing to fluff up like a dandelion.

Once, Johann had gutted a curious barman at the mouth of the street and followed the blood down the crack until it sank into the ground.

drink. What entertained him was watching Florian hitch himself up on tiptoes to reach the top shelf of his personal library. The motion pulled the cinched fabric at his waist tight, emphasized his ankles.

“You know, Florian, you hold an awful lot of grudges for such a tiny, tiny man.”

“Ah, that.” Florian hooked his thumbs beneath Johann’s lapels and began crawling one hand up his chest. Not sensually: he was counting Johann’s ribs. “You must have a guess or two. What’s the one thing you’re good for?”

coat. Florian often dressed as if to cocoon himself; he burrowed beneath layers of frill and finery. As far as Johann knew he’d been in that cocoon for fifteen years, waiting to emerge as something terrible and lovely.

age. He looked softer, more breakable. Like a child who had never been kissed, never been smacked with an open palm.

Johann looked at the arc of Florian’s pale throat, and the golden gashes his eyelids made when he blinked them shut. He hooked one of Florian’s wrists with his thumb. He kissed the Leickenbloom family ring with the affection of fealty. Then he kissed Florian’s knuckles, carefully and one at a time. He kissed the center of Florian’s palm wet and said, “You’re quite charming, you know, especially when you don’t mean to be.”

Florian shivered and made a weak attempt to escape. “I will only warn you once, Johann.” “I’m sure you will,” Johann purred. He tightened his grip on Florian’s throat, indented his esophagus softly and sweetly, just like a kiss.

skin. Florian’s breath spooled out of him inch by inch, like a ribbon pulled from his mouth.

a circle of fire in the lamplight. “You obey my desires, Johann. It does not work in reverse.” “Right,” Johann gasped. “Is that clear?” “As glass, Herr Leickenbloom.” A very small, very cruel smile quirked the corner of Florian’s mouth. Slowly, he sank to his knees and pressed a soft, trembling kiss to Johann’s lips. “Good,” he whispered. “I needed to make certain that you understood the distinction.”

Johann had never fucked someone more than once, and had certainly never fucked someone slowly or ponderously, as anything but opportunistic—and often unsatisfying—curiosity.

“Nicer, then.” Johann dipped down to kiss him, relishing the way Florian still trembled a little—entirely unbidden—when they were close.

“Well, that’s entirely in your hands, isn’t it, sugarsnap?” Johann purred, brushing back Florian’s hair. “Nothing gets broken if you don’t struggle.” The words sat between them for a few moments. Florian met his eyes steadily, a defiant set to his jaw that didn’t reach the rest of his face. He didn’t pull away when Johann tried to kiss him this time—he opened his mouth under it. Johann bit into him, devoured him. Florian hooked a hand around his neck and fumbled the other one into his pocket as Johann slipped his long fingers beneath one knee and hiked him up onto the worktable.

Florian yanked something from his pocket as he got kissed again

Florian had kissed her cold lips, just to see if she would wake up, like a maiden in a Mittengelt fairy tale.

Johann wrapped both hands around the Ambassador’s tumid neck and didn’t let go until he smelt shit.