The Monster of Elendhaven

by Jennifer Giesbrecht

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.

Johann learned what sort of creature he was by accident. One day he slipped on a patch of ice. His ankle turned in the wrong direction and plunged him off a roof like a crow with a clipped wing. 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.”

“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.”

The wound healed seamlessly, and Johann drew a gloved finger across his jugular, chuckling at how Florian had grown red and splotchy along his cheekbones. That wasn’t all that was red: he’d been sprayed across the face by Johann’s blood in a clear, brilliant arc—ear to ear, like a carnival grin. 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.

“Tracking patterns and behaviour through comparative equations. I am taking the mathematical shape of you.” “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.” Florian hummed and ignored him in favour of his sums. As revenge, Johann shook himself dry like a dog, spraying Florian and his notes with specks of foamy seawater. Florian shrieked and leapt to his feet. “You—” His finger shook where he angled it at Johann in accusatory offense. “Y-you!” “Me?” Johann snickered, barely able to contain himself.

“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.”

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.

“They barricaded us in our home,” Florian hissed. “Until we were all dead, save for me. On the mere suspicion—the absolutely baseless suspicion—that one of us might have been a sorcerer! Well, I decided that if Elendhaven wanted to see a magical plague so badly, I would do my best to show them one. And I see no reason to stop there. The landed gentry, the emissaries from Mittengelt, the southerners who stole our futures and picked our bones … no one is blameless.” “The suspicion wasn’t baseless, though. One of you was a sorcerer.” Johann trailed his fingers down the back of Florian’s silk stocking as he pulled his leg free of the boot. “They weren’t wrong.” Florian reared up in his seat, furious. “How dare you—!” “It’s funny, don’t twist my words—these assholes signed their own death warrant, but Florian: they weren’t wrong. They feared that the Leickenblooms were harbouring a magical child, a monster who would unleash a plague on them. Here you are.”

Florian was not impressed by this offering. “Why would you think I wanted this?” he demanded when he saw it, covering his mouth with a handkerchief. “I thought you could use it as … research samples? To track the progress of the plague?” “Johann, you don’t … you don’t understand anything.” Florian sighed and ground his palm between his eyes. “You realize that you’ve just caused us more trouble?” Johann rocked back and forth on his heels. “You know me, sweetheart. I live to serve.” Florian let out an ungraceful snort. His look of utter, familiar disdain was so pretty that Johann couldn’t help but kiss him.

For most people, a darkness behind the iris was a sign of melancholy. For Florian it bespoke pure elation. Thin ice isn’t a problem for the sea; it’s a problem for the blind idiot who steps out on it. The fool who breaks it gets sucked under; the ice, it mends.

“You’re impossible. Why should I expect that you would ever learn a single lesson?” He sighed, then flicked his wrist to force Johann to scoop him up bridal-style. Florian released his magical hold and flourished his hands, gesturing with drunken certainty in the direction of the Leickenbloom mansion. “Now, manservant, you may take me home.” “It is a credit to me as a ‘bodyguard’ that I don’t drop you right back in the mud, Boss.” “Don’t call me that.” “Sweetheart.” “Or that.” 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?

It was hard to believe it came out of him, the same slippery meat that was stuffed inside everyone else. He pulled off both of his gloves and took Florian’s hand in his bare palms. “Florian, this … this is a stupid way to die.” Florian struggled to speak, but there was blood in his mouth. Johann gripped his hand harder. “After all that, you can’t intend to actually die.” “Goddess … Johann … sh-sh.… shut up.…” Florian coughed up blood all over his chin, over his collar where mud had been streaked the night before.

What self-absorbed idiots, he thought, so bored with their lives that they hungered for news of mutilated women. Unwise to dream of death in a world where someone has the power to make those dreams come true.