Page 13 of A Mastery of Monsters

I groan when Mia weaves her way around the other passengers on the ferry to sit next to me.

I’m used to traveling to Kingston early in the morning because of my Tim Hortons shifts, but that was on weekends.

On a weekday, this is one of the busiest times to get on, and I was lucky to find a place to sit, much less one alone.

I tug the open flaps of my zip-up hoodie closer to my body.

Even in summer, the morning breeze on the ferry can get cold.

“I’m so happy to see you too,” Mia chimes, propping her hockey stick between her knees.

“You practice this early?”

“Sometimes.” A sly grin slides onto her lips. “Going to see your special friend? I saw that he came by last weekend.”

I don’t have the energy to dig into how she even saw Virgil.

After I got over the whole Isaac-can-turn-into-a-monster-and-I-guess-Virgil-can-too thing, they drove me home.

I’ve cemented myself into the plan to enter this competition, or at least, to make them think that’s what I’m doing.

Really, I’ll use whatever resources of theirs I can to find Jules as soon as possible.

But for now, I’m playing along. Which is why I’m going to meet them on campus and get introduced to some guy.

“I have work,” I say.

“Bullshit.”

“Do you want something from me?”

Mia’s face lights up, and she tosses her shiny ponytail over her shoulder. “Now that you mention it…”

“What?”

“I’m trying to arrange a community dinner, and I need some help with cleaning up that old barn. You know the one, right? It’s behind our—”

“Pass.”

This girl actually stomps her feet. I can’t with her. “Just help me!”

I smile. “No.”

She slides closer to me on the bench and says, “I’ve noticed you practicing your knife throwing. Some of those blades are awfully dull. I think if you could sharpen them yourself, you would. Meaning you can’t. I could help.”

How does this girl notice absolutely everything I do? Though she’s right. Mom used to sharpen our knives for us. And of course, Jules learned how to do it and sharpened mine for me. Besides that, it’s not like I have a whetstone lying around. “Why do you know how to sharpen knives?”

Mia leans back on the bench, steepling her fingers. “Every year I carve a knife from stone and sharpen it, leaving it in the shadow of the moon to grow fruitful with energy.”

“Really?”

She rolls her eyes. “No. Wow, you’ll believe anything. My dad is a massive nerd with a giant fantasy sword collection, and they sometimes require sharpening.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Jacques then.”

“And open yourself up to the trap of having to spend hours listening to him tell you about his collection? Plus, then he’ll always ask you about knife throwing whenever he sees you. Is that what you want? To be my dad’s knife bestie?”

She has a fair point. I gnaw on my lip. “My knives work fine.”

“You would seriously rather have them be dull than help me?”

“Why do you even want to do this dinner thing?”

“We’re a tiny house community . You do know what community means, right? We should be spending time together and helping each other.”

“We already do that. People bug me all the time about joining them gardening and shit.”

“No,” Mia says. “ My mom asks you to join her in the garden. She asks if you want to come over for dinner. She asks if you want to do things. Just her. And you always say no! Bailey’s the only one who ever does stuff with us.”

“You can’t force people into being a community.”

“Urg! You sound like my parents.” Mia sighs. “Why would you want to be on your own? There are people who live on the same land you do who you could get to know. And you’d rather, what? Ignore everyone forever? Be alone? You don’t think that’s sad?”

“I’m not helping.”

“Fine! I’ll do it myself.” She shoves a pair of earbuds in and plays her music so loud that I can hear it.

I put in my own earbuds and close my eyes, trying not to think about Mia saying, “You don’t think that’s sad?”

Humphrey Hall is a gray brick building near the park I’m starting to feel too familiar with. Virgil and Margot meet me at a side door, and we enter the building. Instead of walking to wherever this guy’s office is, they stand right inside the door.

“Are we going or what?” I ask.

Margot says, “We want to brief you before you go in. You’ll be meeting Henry. He’s the Master who nominated me for the candidacy last year, which means he cannot nominate you this year, but he can find someone who can. Without the nomination, you don’t even get to participate.”

“The candidacy being this competition thing?”

“Yes. Henry is also an important person to have on your side. It’s crucial that you make a good impression.”

I figured as much. I remember them mentioning this Henry guy when I first met Margot.

About how he’d found other candidates for Virgil to partner with but apparently they hadn’t been any good.

I don’t know how great this guy could be considering that, but whatever, I’ll make nice with him.

“Okay, let’s go.” I move forward, eager to get this over with.

Virgil steps in front of me. “You do get how important this is, right? Henry has the power to help us. The Doctorate is the head of the entire organization—like, the whole thing, all of Canada and beyond. And the sixth Doctorate, our current leader, raised Henry alongside his youngest son, Adam, when Henry’s family died.

And Henry himself is a direct descendant of the first Master.

He’s a big deal. And we’re lucky he’s already on our side. He wants us to win.”

I feel a headache coming on from trying to understand all this stuff. But the Doctorate is their leader… meaning the guy Virgil’s parents tried to kill. “Why is the Doctorate so important? Like, do you guys vote him in or is this a cult-y dictatorship thing?”

Margot massages her temple. “Doctorates, who all come from the same bloodline, are born with the ability to control any monster without bonding. Even monsters who are already bonded. Usually, there’s only one in every generation, though as you’ll come to see, the current generation is a little different.

All three of our Doctorate’s sons have inherited the ability, though I suppose only one of them will get the official title. ”

“Why don’t Doctorates all have, like, a bunch of kids if their special power is so important?”

“Because, like I said, traditionally only one child has inherited the ability even if they have multiple children, and it creates succession issues that we’ll now have to deal with, which is why the original Doctorate said they should only have one child and—” She cuts herself off.

“That doesn’t even matter right now. What matters is that when the apocalypse comes, the Doctorate will be paramount in our ability to win.

All the monsters locked up underground will be released into their control to fight. ”

I remember what Virgil said about becoming fodder for the front lines. Is this what he meant? “To fight… the apocalypse ?” I cannot control the skepticism on my face.

“No,” Margot says, narrowing her eyes. “To fight what comes along with the apocalypse. We’ll get into that later. Right now, you need to focus on impressing Henry.”

“Okay…” I’m perfectly fine with not having to hear about whatever wild end-of-the-world shit they’ve been brainwashed into believing. “I get it. Henry’s very powerful and very important. I’ll behave.”

Virgil and Margot share a glance but finally start moving through the halls until we reach an office with a plaque on the door that reads, HENRY SCOTT, PH.D. PSYCHOLOGY .

Looks like Mr. Fancy has a fancy degree to go with all his clout and tragic backstory.

“The door is open,” Margot says, waving at me to go inside. “He said he’ll be along shortly.”

I expect the two of them to follow, but they stay in the hall.

The office is decorated in dark, moody tones—the colors of avocado skins and autumn leaves.

Large enough to fit both a desk area and a small sitting room with a real goddamn fireplace.

This guy must have tenure or something to have a space this nice.

The walls are covered with wallpaper that has delicate vines wrapping around each other and cupping open pomegranates, whose juice spills onto the leaves.

The two side walls are lined with bookcases that reach the ceiling, the shelves stained umber and filled with books.

And not just the old-looking decorative kind that I’m convinced no one reads—this has a bunch of memoirs, historical texts, and self-help books.

I didn’t realize that actual psychologists read those.

I sit in a chair with wooden arms and a velvet cushion in front of a massive desk, also wood.

The items on top of it are an assortment of aesthetic knickknacks.

And the guy’s computer is a giant iMac. It’s jarring, with its sleek silver surfaces surrounded by the gloomy antique decor.

Like he should have covered it up with a box or stashed it underneath the desk.

It doesn’t belong among the wood polish scent and literal cloves in a bowl that’s probably hand carved.

I pick at my nails and don’t bother stopping when the door opens behind me. I wait until the man makes his way fully around the desk and sits.

He looks like a guy who should have glasses. His shoulder-length locs are pulled into a ponytail and his hairline is neatly lined up. Glasses would really complete the professor look.

He adjusts the neck of his cardigan and pulls out a leather-bound notebook, unwrapping the cord around it and opening to a new page, where he writes my full name.

It’s almost like we’re in a session. Not that I’ve ever been in one. Considering my life, maybe I should have. But even if I was amenable to spilling my guts to a stranger, which I’m not, I don’t think we’d have the money for it.

“Presumably you know who I am,” Henry says.

“Henry.”