Page 7 of A Mastery of Monsters

Big Sandy Bay is part provincial park and part beach.

Though I would ideally not even be here, I understand why they wanted the help carrying everything.

It’s a fifteen- to twenty-minute walk through trees on a dirt path to get from the parking lot to the actual beach.

Bailey, Izzy, and Mia will go ahead of us with the lighter items to get the food started.

Jacques is already at the beach setting up the grill and chairs.

Meanwhile, me and Virgil will bring up the rear with the heavier coolers of drinks and ice.

Mia slides next to me, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. She’s pretty in a way that’s powerful. Like she could get anyone to do anything for her. Big brown doe eyes, long lashes, thick shiny hair, and warm brown skin. “He’s cute,” she whispers.

“I am not interested,” I say, as if I hadn’t made the same observation earlier.

She tilts her head to the side. “Then why are you on a date?”

“We’re not on a—” I pause and lower my voice, attempting calm. “Not a date.”

“If you say so,” she singsongs, collecting a cooler from her mom.

My aunt’s eyes linger on me as she leaves with Izzy and Mia, and I look away. I’m not in the mood for a conversation and she isn’t good with confrontation. Guess that runs in Dad’s family.

They hadn’t packed the drinks with the bags of ice yet, so that becomes Virgil’s and my job. By the time we finish cutting open the bags, distributing the pop between the coolers, and locking up the truck, my aunt and the Levesque mother-daughter duo are way ahead of us.

The open path narrows as we walk it, the trees becoming denser, crowding in on the sky and cloaking the area in much-appreciated shade.

Unfortunately, it does nothing to help the humidity.

The air is so heavy that I feel like I could stick out my tongue and lap up the moisture.

I swat at the mosquitos and gnats buzzing around my face.

“So,” Virgil says, as he pulls the cooler without any physical effort. “Where does one learn knife throwing?”

I don’t want to play his game, but this is getting old. All being stubborn got me was him following me here. “It’s circus arts stuff. My mom did it when she was younger, so she taught me and my brother a bunch of it.”

“Circus arts… Can you clarify what that entails?”

“We learned knife throwing and combat, slacklining, gymnastics, swordplay, sometimes magic tricks, that sort of thing. I’m not, like, an expert in anything, but I’m pretty good at it all.

It was just for fun.” That’s how Mom sold it.

An enjoyable set of hobbies. Though sometimes she was so serious about it, like we were going to compete, but she never signed us up for anything.

She demanded perfection in everything. Even our casual pastime.

Virgil stops on the path. “I’m sorry, circus arts, like Cirque du Soleil, right? Since when does that include knife combat and swordplay? Even being generous and assuming some kind of movie circus with sad elephants and lions, that’s far-fetched.”

“It’s artistic combat and swordplay.” I wave my arms around. “Like, you make it pretty and stuff.”

“And what exactly makes it pretty?”

“The way you move, I guess.”

His eyes soften, like he’s speaking to a small child. “Oh my God, you’re naive .”

“Fuck off.” I restart walking and leave him standing there.

I know it’s weird. It was why I never mentioned it to my so-called friends, who already thought my mom was strange.

One was even convinced that Mom had, like, stalked him.

Or was checking up on him or something. They’re full of shit.

It just took me longer than it should have to realize.

“Sorry,” he says, catching up with me. “You have to admit it’s a unique set of skills to share with children. What else did she teach you?”

“Basic survival skills, which is responsible parenting, by the way.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t know because my parents are dead.”

Fuck, I’d already forgotten.

Virgil opens his mouth, then stops. He stares at the trees like he’s looking for something. His lips flatten into a line. “Get off the path.”

“What?”

The trees shake across from us. Rattling from the trunks to the top branches, and expanding outward, like something is pushing them. Bending the bark to its will.

He yanks both his and my cooler off the path into the trees. Then he lays down on his stomach and motions for me to do the same.

I don’t move. “What are you doing?”

A low growl sounds near us. I jerk my head around. Someone’s dog? I’m about to search through the trees for it when Virgil pulls my foot out from under me. I shoot toward the ground but catch myself in time, getting my hands out in a bent position and landing softly.

I kick him in the face for good measure.

He grunts, and when I look back, he’s brought his hands up just in time to block the blow. I scowl. He grins. “Great reflexes,” he says.

The second growl comes, and this time, I do see something.

And it isn’t a dog.

It lopes forward on two furred legs, at least six feet tall, its arms tucked up to its chest. Its eyes are huge and bulging from a thin face with giant ears.

It looks like a horror movie version of the Easter Bunny.

The proportions are twisted and odd, and when its mouth opens, the signature buck teeth I’d expect of a rabbit have sharpened points.

I blink like the more I do it, the more likely it is that this thing will disappear.

A fine tremble rushes across my body, stamping its little feet and ripping up goose pimples.

Its ears twitch, and it turns to where we lie. Virgil swears, muttering for me to stay down and not move. But he’s too late. I’m already standing.

If Virgil expects me to be a good girl and listen to him, he’ll have to get used to being disappointed.

The thing’s lips stretch into a perfect arched smile. It’s a sight I don’t expect I’ll ever forget.

It charges at us.

Virgil shoves me out of the way, and I tuck and roll, scrambling to get my bearings. “Give me the knife!” I shout at him.

“Run away!” he shouts back.

The thing charges at me again, hopping over Virgil like he’s not even there. But in what feels like an instant, Virgil is back in front. Fast. Too fast. The monster head butts him, and he flies into a tree with a grunt. It tilts its head, regarding me.

I rush to Virgil and tug my knife out of his pocket.

Groggy, he mutters, “ Run .”

“You’re barely conscious, so you kind of need me, and also, there’s no point in running.

” It only took two attacks for me to realize that this thing wants me.

I raise the knife in my trembling hand. I’m trying to think of everything Mom taught me.

Attempting to anticipate its movements, its plan.

But it’s a fucking deranged animal. I don’t even know if it has one.

But if it wants me dead, why would it wait until I’ve recovered to attack? Why not go for the kill?

I don’t have time to guess its motives.

I throw the knife, aiming for those big brown eyes. The thing attempts to dodge, but it goes the way I expected. To the right. There’s no space for it to go left. And I threw the knife just off course enough for it to sink into its eye.

The beast screeches and bats at the blade. It falls out, and I dart forward to retrieve it, skirting between the thing’s muscular legs. Which I realize is not the greatest idea when one of those legs shoots backward at me.

Somehow, Virgil is in front of me, and he takes the brunt of the kick, digging his heels into the ground and managing to stay upright. How is he so fucking fast?!

The mutilated rabbit snarls at us and then pauses, freezing, its ears perked. Then, as quickly as it came, it darts away into the trees.

I’m panting and gasping for air as if I weren’t breathing at all before. Like this is my first time trying it out.

Virgil whirls on me. “What is wrong with you?! What would possess you to do that? I said to run!”

“If I’d run, it would have chased me.”

“And I would have stopped it!”

“Would you? Because you kind of seemed like you needed my help. We had a better chance of survival working together.”

“You could have gotten yourself killed! Do you not have any impulse control?”

I do. I just choose to ignore it. “And if I’d left, you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Virgil stares at me, open-mouthed.

I ask, “What was that thing?” And what are you? Is a question I decide to hold back. Priorities.

He shakes his head, then retrieves both coolers and brings them back onto the path, dragging them toward the beach.

I follow him because what else am I supposed to do? When we reach the edge of the tree line, he drops the loads. “You have your knife. I’m leaving.”

“I thought you needed my skills?”

“I do, but I don’t need what comes with it. I need someone with focus and drive, who isn’t going to jump into danger for the sake of it.”

“Me jumping into danger saved you, if you didn’t notice. Where’s my thank-you?”

He turns away. “Thanks, and goodbye.”

I step forward. “Wait! You’re not going to tell me what that was? What if it comes back? It was targeting me.”

“I’m going to deal with it. You’ll be fine.”

I scoff. Yeah, because that vague proclamation fixes everything.

But Virgil’s apparently done listening to me, because he doesn’t stop walking.

I caress the knife in my hand, looking at the steel handle with Mom’s initials engraved in it. I don’t need him. I defended myself well enough. Even gone, Mom’s still protecting me.

When I go to the barbecue, I help with the cooking and brush off the questions about my “friend.”

I keep an eye on the tree line and make sure my hands are hidden as much as possible so no one can see that they’re still shaking.

The next day, a girl on Jules’s floor finds his door unlocked with a note in his room saying he’s decided to leave. Leave Queen’s. Leave Kingston.

And apparently, leave me.