The Badlings

Chapter 22. One Monkey's Mischief

When reading a book, beware of paper cuts. Once you shed blood at the hands of a character, you become it. As you've seen, Peacock has suffered this fate already, successfully turning into one of the vampire sisters. Grand was yet to face his decapitation. As for Bells and Rusty...well.

Pursued by the speediest steeds in Mad Tome—the three horses of the Snow Queen—Hinbad was not to be outmatched.

"You try and catch me, you crazy icicle!" he screeched. "I didn't learn to fly for nothing! I can totally outfly you, watch me!"

Unfortunately, because Hinbad was young and giant and overconfident, he focused more on asserting himself than on where he was going. The monkeys screamed directions, trying to prevent the crash, and failed.

Rushing full speed ahead, Hinbad saw the rising page a tad too late. He careened, desperately flapping his wings, and then realized that this maneuver happened only in his head. In reality he propelled forward headlong, tore through the tent of the jungle, and slid into the rich soil the way a knife slides into butter. His whole body quivered from the impact. The monkeys rained off his back, scattering into trees. And Bells and Rusty somersaulted into a cluster of flowers that stunk like decomposing corpses.

There was a silence that follows big explosions, then it erupted with noises.

Bells sat up, dizzy. She brushed off leaves and twigs and gawked around.

The jungle seethed with life. Insects buzzed. Birds shrieked. Everything pulsed and dripped and wobbled. There were no visible paths leading anywhere. Tree branches curled like outstretched fingers aiming to snag her hair. Flowers emitted a nauseating odor. And when she moved, the ground squelched, reluctant to let her go.

"Are you okay?" she asked Rusty, her nimble fingers redoing the ponytail.

"I'm fine," he said, his head down. "You?"

"I think so." She patted herself, failing to notice a peculiar tone to his voice. "Nothing is broken. And we're alive, which is a good thing. But these flowers stink, which is a bad thing." She waited for him to comment or at least to snigger.

He did neither.

"What's wrong, Rusty?"

He looked up, a hand on his cheek.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

Bells frowned. "Let me see."

"It's nothing, really." Rusty backed away, but Bells was faster. She peeled off his fingers and gasped. A shallow gash ran from his eye to his chin in a jagged scarlet line.

"It's cool, man. You don't need to worry. I cut myself when we fell. On a...on a stick! Right there." He vaguely pointed beyond the flowers and gave her a weak smile.

Bells' eyes widened. "They scratched you."

"Who?"

"The monkeys!"

"No, they didn't."

"You're such a bad liar. It doesn't look like a cut, it looks like a scratch and it looks bad, Rusty. You're bleeding. You're—" She stopped herself, turning cold.

"What?"

Their eyes met.

"What's happening?"

"Listen," she said quickly, "just...stay calm, okay? Stay calm."

"Why?" Rusty cried. "What's the matter?"

Bells stated as evenly as she could, "You're changing into a monkey."