The Final Descent (The Monstrumologist) by Yancey Rick

Author:Yancey, Rick [Yancey, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2013-09-09T14:00:00+00:00

Several hours later, the water in the shape of the human cup was descending the stairs to the Monstrumarium, alone.

“Come with me tonight,” I’d said before we parted.

“I have made plans,” she’d answered.

“Change them.”

“I have no desire to change them, Mr. Henry.”

“I am a forward-thinking person,” I assured her. “I believe in full sexual equality, the right to vote, free love, all of that.”

She grinned. “I wish you luck tonight, and in the hunt. Not that you need much—he is the greatest that ever was or will be. Something thrilling and tragic in that, when you think about it.”

“Yes. Thrillingly tragic. When will I see you again?”

“I shall be here till Sunday; I thought I told you that.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I can’t.”

“Saturday, then.”

“I shall have to check my calendar.”

Standing in the vestibule, hands clenched at my sides, blood roaring in my ears. And his voice: Even the most chaste of kisses carries an unacceptable risk.

“You aren’t going to kiss me again, are you?” she asked, lips slightly parted.

“I should,” I murmured in reply, edging closer to the lips slightly parted.

“Then why don’t you? Not enough wine or not enough blood?”

It burns, my father had said. It burns.

“There is something I must tell you,” I whispered, my lips a hair’s breadth from hers, close enough to feel the heat of them and to smell her warm, sweet breath.

“Does it have to do with free love?” she asked.

“In a very roundabout way,” I answered, the words sticking in my throat. I could see my parents dancing in the blue fire of her eyes. “There is something inside of me . . .”

“Yes?”

I could not go on. My thoughts would not hold still. It burns, it burns, and the worms that fell from his eyes and afraid of needles are you and what would you do, and Lilly, Lilly, do not suffer me to live past you, do not suffer me to see you suffer, and the thing in the jar and the thing in the thief his chest splitting open like the T. cerrejonensis shell splitting open and the unblinking amber eye, and the infestation this is my inheritance and each kiss the bullet, each kiss the dagger plunging home and I would die, I would die and never fall in love, Will Henry, never, never and the insubstantiality of water and she the cup, Lilly the vessel that bears the uncountable years, do not suffer do not suffer do not suffer.

“Good-bye, William James Henry.”

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