17. Aliana #2
I lace up some thick black boots and toss a man’s green sweater over my head because I’ve been wearing my silky dress nonstop since the fountain.
It’s far cleaner and nicer than any of the second-hand clothes in this closet.
But it’s also quite revealing. There are a couple of slits up the thighs that make for the kind of easy access I don’t want any monsters thinking about.
Mr. Ghosty would have gotten a free pass. But he’s all but disappeared after shattering my damn heart.
“Ready?” Filia appears at the door of the closet just as I’m shoving my hand through the scratchy sweater sleeves.
“Yup!” I gleam with enthusiasm as false as the cubic zirconia at the big chain stores we sometimes raid.
Raided , I correct myself. Past tense. I’m not there anymore.
Oh, there comes the lump in my throat—the now familiar one that makes me feel as if I just ate clumps of wet paper towel.
I try to swallow it down as I follow Filia down the hallway for my first field trip since my embarrassing public bath in the fountain.
Three rights and a left later, we’re in a long, narrow room with three wall ovens and a fridge that looks as wide as my bed.
Zeelof bustles around, buzzing like the bumblebee he resembles, spinning from a countertop where he’s chopping up some kind of meat that looks suspiciously like fingers, to stirring a big pot of stew that smells delicious.
Seated at the counter across from him, nursing a topped-off glass of wine, is a round little monster about the size of a basketball with pencil-thin arms and legs and ostrich feathers for hair. “Oh! You brought her!” His voice is an excited squeak, like a dog’s chew toy come to life.
“Yup.” Filia grins.
“Hi, I’m Roachella,” the little guy says.
“Aliana,” I return as Filia leads me to some stools at the countertop. They’re set in front of the cutting board, where I can see fingernails and tiny bits of bone.
“Yes, yes, the mysterious ma—”
“Taste this!” Zeelof interrupts our meeting by shoving a spoonful of stew into Roachella’s mouth.
The tiny, popcorn-colored monster squeaks in surprise. “Hot! Very hot!” He fans his mouth once Zeelof removes the spoon.
“Too spicy?” Zeelof frowns. “But I used one ghost pepper and two crabs to offset it.”
“Too temperature hot!” Roachella returns. “I like the ghost pepper. But those crabs taste a little gritty.”
Zeelof sighs and then eyes me. “Everyone’s a critic. You want your usual, or are you going to be adventurous?”
Three tongues stare expectantly at me and—for a moment—I’m back in the forest, peer pressure urging me to take another shot of vodka. Do I want to keep Filia happy? To put them all at ease so they chatter and maybe let something slip about that black mist outside?
My chest tightens at the choice facing me.
Zeelof bursts into laughter before wiping a hand across his black- and yellow-striped belly. “Just kidding. Sit down. Sit down. Your face. We won’t make you turn cannibal tonight, kitten.”
Relief floods my cheeks, and it takes a moment before I register what he called me. That’s when my jaw drops and I point an accusatory finger at the chef. “I hate that name.” God, I’m going to stab the Devourer in the balls if he somehow found a way to make that atrocious nickname stick.
Mirth glitters in his eyes. “I know. But what can I say? I’m a monster who loves to annoy. Get used to it, kitten .” This time he drags the name out deliberately.
The other monsters chuckle.
“Just you wait, gritty ,” I toss back. “I give as good as I get.”
Roachella practically crows in delight. “Oh, she’s got a spine. Bet it would taste delic—”
Filia claps him on the back so hard, his face smacks into the counter. “Careful. Don’t want the Devourer to hear that.”
“Aw, I was just joking,” Roachella complains, straightening. “Besides, he’s too busy dealing with those crazy Eights. A Three won’t worry him.”
“Not unless the Three is getting killed by the Eights,” Zeelof retorts as he gives his stew another stir, before heading to the fridge and pulling out a small watermelon.
“They’re going after Threes?” Roachella squeaks, his tiny hands flying up to his feathery, gray hair. “Why? We aren’t a threat to them.”
“Exactly the point, I think,” Filia says with a shake of her head.
“Sorry—what’s going on?” I interject, feeling lost. I know a tiny bit about their power designations from what Filia told me, but that’s it. Why would Eights go after some low-powered Threes? How does this concern the Devourer?
“The Devourer’s gone because we had a big attack on the outskirts of our territory. I guess all the Terrors have been dealing with them lately. Things have really heated up in the past couple of days.” Filia’s mouth is drawn in a stern line.
“Oh.” I lean back on my stool, processing.
Creep is a Terror too. Maybe that’s why he’s disappeared.
Maybe it had nothing to do with me. I cross my fingers underneath the countertop, hoping this means that he’ll be back and my shot at escaping isn’t totally kaput.
“So, Eights are attacking Threes. Over some land?”
“Nope.” Zeelof leans forward over his cutting board, using his knife to emphasize his point.
I can’t help but think about how sharp that particular knife looks…
though it’s nothing compared to his long claws.
“They’re fighting over power. When an Eight makes so many kills, they can power up to become a level Nine monster.
When any monster makes so many kills, they can level up.
It’s how Ones turn into Twos, Twos turn into Threes, and so on.
Of course, they can just eliminate an entire power level as well.
Say…killing off all four Tens. Then the Nines will be the most powerful monsters in existence.
By default, they’ll become Tens, because no one will have more power than them in the monster community…
” He trails off, appearing contemplative, one of his long nails tapping against his chin.
“Okay…” I like the idea that tongues have to deal with infighting.
That’s a good thing for humans, right? At the same time, I can’t ignore the sliver of unease that embeds itself in my chest at the thought of the Tens being killed off.
I only know two of them—the Creeper and the Devourer—and I’m not even sure I like them, but to have them killed?
Why does that make me so restless and uneasy? “So, does this happen often?”
Roachella, who’s taking a sip of his drink, chokes on it and splutters, “N-no fucking way. Monsters are meant to go after humans—not each other. Besides, we have laws, just like you humans do. Granted, the laws are a little looser than yours, but senseless killing? Yeah, that’s a big, fat nope.
It’s why the Terrors police the monster community…
to stop all of the higher-level monsters from needlessly slaughtering the lower-level ones. ”
My mouth opens and closes twice, but I can’t think of anything to say to that.
Zeelof’s buggy eyes gleam oddly in the light flickering off the stove and all his fixtures. “It’s unnatural for there to be so many murders. And the implications are horrific…”
“Implications?” I ask.
Filia raises an orange eyebrow. “If enough Eights become Nines, then they’ll be strong enough to challenge the Terrors.”