Monsters Read online

  Monsters

  Prodigium Academy Book One

  Katie May

  Copyright © 2019 by Katie May

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Logan Keys

  To my readers. I know you’re all a little bit psycho. Embrace your monster.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Katie May

  Chapter 1

  Violet

  I just barely dodge the onslaught of bullets.

  Heart hammering, I duck behind a rusty, old pick-up truck and chance a peek over the hood.

  There, in the shadows, my target stands, back silhouetted.

  The town is quiet, almost unnaturally so. The peaceful air belies the tension ratcheting up a notch.

  Because some asshole is trying to kill me. Again.

  How did this become my life?

  I am a good girl. Promise. I haven’t killed anyone in over two years, and I always clean up after I eat.

  So why try to kill me?

  I duck down once more as another round of bullets fire in rapid procession. Wooden. Of fucking course.

  Another glance over the hood confirms what I suspect. Etched into the side of the literal smoking gun is a golden crest.

  The Van Helsings.

  Fuck me in the asshole.

  Hands clenching, I slowly pull myself upwards, hands denting the poor car. I’ll have to leave a check for the owner later.

  I can feel the telltale sign of my fangs elongating, scraping against my bottom lip.

  With a speed that defies logic, I race towards my attacker.

  And promptly trip over an orange construction cone in the street.

  Here’s the thing about my speed: you can’t fucking control it. You don’t have any extra senses or shit like that as the movies display. You can’t know where each and every obstacle is.

  Running through a forest? Damn near impossible. You can bet your sweet ass I’ll run face first into at least one tree.

  So, yeah.

  There’s that.

  Lying face first on the ground, I groan, using my arms to push myself up.

  “Freaking tit,” I curse, brushing dirt and pebbles off my clothes. My knee stings from where rocks are embedded into the pasty skin my skirt reveals.

  Another urban legend. Vampires do get hurt. Quite easily in fact, especially if you’re like me.

  “I’m going to get you!” I call to the Van Helsing who is...nowhere to be seen.

  I spin in a wide circle, arms raised to fend off any attack. There could’ve been tumbleweeds bouncing about with how still the town is. All of the shops have their lights off, shutters drawn.

  But haven’t you heard? It’s night, and the monsters love to come out and play.

  I finally drop my hands just as a body tackles me from the side. I squeal, landing once more in the asphalt. Yes, in. As in, my mouth swallows a good handful and a few loose pebbles get in my eye. I really should put a claim to this spot of land. My face is getting well acquainted with it.

  “Get off of me, you Van Helsing scum. I. Will. Crush. You.” And then I growl, the sound ominously loud and sending unpleasant goosebumps down my spine.

  The body above me freezes before pushing off.

  I blame it on the growl. What person would respect a monster that sounds like a bat giving anal?

  Note to self: don’t ever fucking growl. Actually, don’t even speak. Speaking and growling are off limits. From now on, I am a nun...of silence.

  That’s right, bitches.

  “What the fuck was that? Were you trying to growl? ” a familiar voice says, jumping to his feet and looming over me.

  Oh, fuck.

  I think I prefer the man trying to kill me.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, still awkwardly sprawled on the ground like the badass I know I am. I scramble to a sitting position and brush out my blonde locks, trying to give the impression that I totally meant to be on the ground.

  Dracula is a scary son of a gun. Movies and shows fail to depict my domineering father. Towering at over seven feet, he is the epitome of classy monster. Bedecked in a business suit with his hair slicked back, you almost fail to notice the blood dripping from his mouth. A few feet behind him is the Van Helsing dipshit who dared try to hurt me.

  I glare at his dismembered body.

  “Take that, bitch,” I say snottily, as if I had any hand in his death. When Dad glares at me, I remember my new life motto.

  No. Fucking. Speaking.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dad reluctantly offers me a hand. I take it, pulling myself up, when he promptly releases me, and I land on my ass. Hard.

  “You need to practice, Sweet Girl,” Dad says, love emanating from his eyes. My asscheeks hurt from where they connected with the ground, but I manage to amble to my feet without his help.

  “I’m sorry,” I say earnestly. “But did you see me that time? I almost had him.”

  Even before I finish speaking, he’s shaking his head.

  “You almost had him an hour ago when he first started shooting at you. Your hands were around his neck, and all you needed to do was snap.” His hand pats my blonde mane placatingly, and I duck my head in shame. Dammit. The last thing I need is to fucking cry in front of Dracula. So help me—

  “I wanted to play with him first,” I lie, kicking my foot out.

  Dad is silent for a moment. So silent I almost think he believes me.

  Until he speaks.

  “You’re soft, Violet. Too soft to be a monster in today’s world. But we’ll work on it. I already talked with the headmaster—”

  “Wait what?” I interrupt, glancing up at him.

  “Prodigium. Otherwise known as Monsters Academy. It will train you. Harden you. Turn you into a monster worthy of my love.” As he speaks, he continues to pet my hair like I’m a damn dog instead of his daughter.

  “You’re sending me away?” I rasp. I’m a fuckup as a monster...and as a daughter. You should just have “fuckup” stenciled into my forehead at this point. I can’t stand to see the disappointed look in my father’s eyes, as if all his plans never came to fruition.

  But dammit! I can conquer the world if he really wants me to.

  He just never gives me the chance.

  I open my mouth to say all that, to beg
him to change his mind, to give me another chance, when his large hands grasp my neck and abruptly snap it.

  Parent of the fucking year.

  Chapter 2

  Violet

  I wake up on a black duvet, my head pounding and stomach churning. One glance confirms I’m in my bedroom in Dad’s Romanian house.

  Well, maybe house isn’t the best choice of words. Gothic mansion is a more adequate description. With a gabled roof, numerous turrets, a silver gate, and a graveyard adorning the front lawn, the house looks as if it’s plucked straight out of a horror movie.

  My bedroom, at least, has splashes of color—I know, the horror. While my bedspread is black, I have a dozen hot pink pillows. Distressed wood makes up the night stands and dresser.

  It’s...creepy as fuck. I can admit that. What normal teenage girl has spider webs in every corner of her room? This one, that’s for sure.

  Heaving out a sigh, I pad on bare feet to the connecting bathroom. After finishing my business (vampires pee, get over it), I exit the security of my bedroom and walk down the labyrinth of halls. Knights in armor line the walls, swords raised to salute me. They’re not real, of course. Only King Arthur still remains, and he moved to America centuries ago.

  Yes, centuries.

  Certain creatures live longer than others—say kings that were enchanted by Merlin himself, or vampires. Yup, you heard me right. Your girl here is slated to live for eternity.

  If a Van Helsing doesn’t off me first.

  The struggle is real.

  Entering the retro kitchen, I find my dad sitting at the table drinking from a coffee mug. At his feet, a man lies dead.

  I sigh, stepping over his corpse to grab my own mug of blood. It’s still warm and smells vaguely of chocolate. I’m not normally a blood snob—blood is blood, after all—but I can admit when it tastes better than normal. I don’t know what it is, exactly. Just some people have tastier blood than others, just like some animals have tastier meat than others…

  And that makes me sound really creepy.

  “What did he do?” I ask, nodding towards the dead man.

  Now, before you start judging me, let me point out that most of these men and women aren’t upstanding citizens. Dad has a deal with the local prison. They get a generous donation, and we get the worst of the worst.

  “Raped and murdered ten little girls,” Dad replies, voice tight with disgust and righteous anger. We may be monsters, but even we have morals, though they may be somewhat skewed. Hurting little girls? Hurting anyone defenseless? That’s a big no-no in our metaphorical book.

  I hum my disapproval, drowning the rest of the blood with grim satisfaction. Serves the asshole right. Burping—and receiving a disapproving scowl from Dad because of it—I focus on the matter at hand.

  “You’re not really going to make me go to the Academy, are you?” I ask, not above pleading to get my way. Hell, I’ll even throw in a few tears here and there. No man, not even my father, can resist the tears.

  He scowls at me once before turning back towards his newspaper. The front page describes Frankenstein’s newest creation. Contrary to popular belief, Frankenstein isn’t the green monster with earplugs. He’s actually the scientist who created the green monster with earplugs. He discovered immorality some two hundred years ago. Interesting man. Genius, for sure. And a little crazy.

  And…

  I got distracted.

  Again.

  And somewhere along the way, I spilled blood down the front of my shirt.

  Awkwardly, I grab a napkin out of the dispenser and begin to dab at the growing stain. Dab. Not scrub. That’s no way to get blood out of clothing.

  Father rolls his eyes towards the heavens as if he’s waiting for someone to grant him patience.

  “This is why you need to go,” he declares, returning to his newspaper and mug.

  “Okay, look. I know I’m not the best monster in the world. But who the hell would be? I’m young. And I’m learning.” I scramble to my feet, fully prepared to get onto my hands and knees and beg. Instead, I trip over the edge of the Arabian rug and land face first on the floor.

  Because, yeah. I can’t even fucking walk without screwing it up.

  So how the hell does he expect me to “monster?”

  At the end of the day, it’s a losing battle.

  I take one last helpless glance at my cute canopy bed, the severed head on my dresser (because everyone has one), and the spiderwebs on the wall. I named the little guy Peanut. The spider, not the head.

  The head’s name is Bob.

  “I’ll be back,” I say sadly, wheeling my luggage out of my room and into the hall. I wanted to bring my furniture, but Dad insisted it wasn’t needed.

  “They’ll have bedding and shit there,” he said, ever the eloquent one. “Just grab some clothes, and let’s go.”

  Dad’s waiting by the car when I arrive, meticulously groomed in a suit, tie, and cufflinks. I’m wearing my trademark pink skirt and black jacket ensemble, my blonde curls brushed away from my face. Tiny bats are embedded throughout the material.

  As the car pulls away and towards the direction of the airstrip, I find myself bouncing with tension. My knee bobs, and it takes considerable effort to keep it still. My stomach continues tightening to unbearable levels threatening to expel the meager contents of my breakfast.

  While I’ve been out of the country before, I haven’t exactly been around other people.

  Well, other monsters.

  Dad decided to homeschool me, and my few friends have all been human. Humans I can deal with. They pee and eat and bleed. But monsters?

  Fuck no.

  I continue to bounce in the backseat, trying to dispel my nervous energy. The only thing it serves to do is annoy my father, if the glances in the rear view mirror are any indication.

  As the airstrip comes into view, I allow my body to relax marginally. I know deep in my gut, the way I know the sun is going to fall before rising once more, that my life is going to change irreparably. I’m not certain what I’m going to face at Prodigium, only that it’ll alter my life forever.

  And for a girl that’ll live for eternity? That’s scary shit.

  With bated breath, I prepare myself. You never know what fate awaits a monster like me.

  Chapter 3

  Frankie

  The pungent stench of sulfur permeates the air.

  I shift awkwardly on the stool looking everywhere but at my patient. The man’s—whose name I have already forgotten—top half is separated from me by a white sheet hanging from the ceiling. It makes my job easier if I can’t associate a face with...well...with other body parts.

  “Did it work?” the man exclaims excitedly. “It feels different.”

  I remain silent, lips pursed into a thin line.

  Because how do I explain to someone that I sliced their dick in half?

  People come to me if they need something. A way to stay up at night to study. A love potion. A way to see into the future. A monster to clean their dorm room.

  A larger penis.

  I have a pretty good success rate, I’ll say. Nine out of ten.

  But sometimes…

  Well…

  Sometimes I get a dick cut in half, slithering like the snakes on Medusa’s head.

  At least I didn’t set it on fire this time.

  “The ladies are definitely going to notice your cock,” I decide on at last, and he lets out an enthusiastic whoop. Pulling my gaze away from the forked dick—seriously, it resembles a snake tongue—I slide my stool towards the top half of my patient.

  We’re in my lab in the basement of the school. Bleak white walls cage us in on all sides, and an assortment of machinery sits on a long white counter against the far wall. In the center of the room is an operating table, and it’s where my patient is currently sprawled out on.

  “I just need you to sign the contract here, here, and here,” I say, procuring an enchanted document I had Mikey—Merlin’s
son—create.

  “What does it say?” Snake Dick asks, and I nonchalantly shrug a shoulder.

  “Nothing much. Just that you won’t ever harm me or threaten me or hurt my loved ones. The usual.” Another shrug. Without preamble, Snake Dick signs, and I tuck the paper and clipboard beneath my armpit. “And payment?”

  He nods towards his pants discarded on the ground, and I hurry to grab his wallet out of his pocket. Two-hundred dollars sit in crisp bills at the very top, and I don’t hesitate before shoving them into my own pocket.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” I say, quickly ducking around him and out the door. I can hear the sound of him shuffling, pulling back the blanket that obscured his lower half from view…

  “What the fuck?!?!”

  I continue listening to him curse up a storm as I emerge from the maze-like basement and into the bustling halls of Prodigium.

  Now, Prodigium in Latin means port or portal. It’s rumored that Prodigium itself was once built on the biggest portal ever created, one that led directly to the Underworld. That, of course, is superstition.

  And yes, the son of Frankenstein is talking about superstition.

  It’s a strange, new world.

  Strolling languidly through the halls, my hands in my pockets, I partake in two more trades before I reach the exit.

  A cheerleader—and a distant cousin of Wolfman—needed a potion for hair removal. Instead of money, she offered me front row tickets to the Roaring. Mason needed another beanie magically fitted to remain on his head. As a friend of mine, I was generous.