Static clung to Frankie's skin, and her hairs stood on end. A monster suffered on the streets, yet she had turned the other way. But Sparky was right. She had to think of herself. Reason won out, and she had to be selfish. Guilt carved through her. If only she had her friends—
Her friends. An ache filled her chest. There they had been, fleeing a costume party as red and blue lights flashed, their soles thundering on a suburban street as they ran. Frankie swallowed. Holt's presence glared in her peripheral like a spotlight. Today, she left a monster at the mercy of humans. Again.
Dusk approached, and they opened the door to Sparky's house. Frankie inhaled deeply, relief easing her shoulders like a warm blanket.
"Hey, Frankie," Holt said in a low voice, "you can let go now. I'd let ya keep it, but not all of us can pop our hands off." His smile twitched into a wince. "And you got a bit of a death grip going on."
Heat flooded Frankie's cheeks, and she yanked her hand away. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"Nah," he said, voice cracking. Holt shrugged off his jacket and rolled the ruffle sleeves of his white, billowy shirt. He looked at Frankie, brows drawn as he leaned forward. "Your lip's bleeding."
She raised her hand to her mouth. Her finger was slicked with red. "Oh." She sighed and ducked her head. "Sorry. It's a silly habit."
"Since when?"
"Since like a year…" A year ago. A year since they've last spoken, a year of dating Neighthan. Lip biting wasn't ideal, but it did its job: hide her sparks.
It wasn't like Neighthan hadn't appreciated them; sparks were a voltageous freaky flaw. Emotions for everyone to see. The future psychologist in him loved interpreting them, and who wouldn't encourage and support that? But some subconscious thing fought back, and her sparks fizzled out, rare and infrequent. Now she bled.
Frankie pressed her fingertips together, the bloodied one slipping against her thumb. Things were better after the breakup sparkage-wise, but clearly not enough.
"Yo, Sparky!" Holt called out toward his bedroom, where he and Elizabeth had run off. "Do you have any Neosporin or—ah—medicine sticky, uh thingy stuff?"
The door creaked open, and Sparky stepped out of the room. "What on earth are you yammering on about?"
"Frankie's bleedin' a little." Holt gestured her way.
One look at Frankie and Sparky's expression softened. Then he shot Holt an irritated glance. "Salve, Hyde. Salve. And, yes, I have it." He stalked off to the kitchen and, after some loud rummaging, returned with a jar in hand.
"Thanks." Holt reached for it, but he moved past him and handed the jar to Frankie.
She smiled and set it on the table, grimacing at the coppery taste of blood. "Thank you..."
Sparky joined her as she sat, and Frankie zeroed in on Holt's turned back.
He strode to the living area, grumbling under his breath. The twang of his new instrument echoed across the house. Holt plopped onto the chair opposite the loveseat near the fireplace, legs outstretched and head crooked back to the ceiling.
Frankie looked away. He was fine; everything about his posture said so, but it wouldn't last. Not here, with high tensions between monsters and humans. She squeezed her eyes shut. He called her name the night she had left him behind, hadn't he?
She unscrewed the jar. The salve was thick and opaque. Frankie delicately applied it to her lip and winced at the sting. Twisting the lid back on, she glanced at Holt, strumming away.
Even with everything that went down before and on that Halloween night, Holt had been okay, right? He survived it. Arrest; the threat of the Trick-Or-Treatment. Humans and monsters partied Halloween night away, and Holt… He had been up at the towering DJ booth, music at his fingertips, away from the crowds. Frankie clenched her teeth, resisting biting her lip. Monsters and humans had been okay, but a happy face hadn't meant Holt was. Not then, and not today.
"Um, Sparky," Frankie called when he returned the jar to the kitchen, "is there more I can do with the time teleporter?"
"Of course." His eyes lit up, and he dashed to his room. He returned with a cloth-bound notebook and handed it to her. "If I'm ever occupied with school or other projects of the sort, feel free to keep digging."
She ran her thumb along its soft, slim spine. "This is perfect! Thank you, Grandpa."
He gave her a small smile. "I'll fetch my things. You can look at them all you want." In moments, Sparky spread out his notes and Hexiciah's plans on the dining table, along with a quill and ink jar.
Frankie thanked him, and he joined Elizabeth in his bedroom. They sure spent a lot of time in there.
Okay, so far, they'd found some pieces at Rose's shop, and… Frankie scrutinized the notes and rifled through the papers. Only a few more to go. She pursed her lips, ouch, then breathed out. Find the other pieces, fix the time teleporter, and bam! Home. She sifted through the mad scientists' scribbles and jotted relevant bits into her notebook. This was just like clawculous. Tedious and better with Ghoulia around.
Frankie leaned back in her seat, the sounds of Holt's new instrument easing her nerves. The melody started slow, interspersing with upbeat riffs. For a fancy wooden pear, it sounded a lot like a guitar. She craned her neck toward him, and a spark bubbled into her chest. It was like watching him find it all over again. He looked so happy.
She glanced at her bedroom door. The red chrysanthemum sat perched on the windowsill there. Holt's hair had glowed when he'd given it to her at Epic Falls and again on their walk today. Kinda like Heath's. Frankie chuckled. Heath would trip over himself whenever it came to Abbey; hair aflame at the sight of her like a puppy dog. He was thrilled.
Which meant Holt was, too.
Frankie picked at her nails. A year ago, she could say sparking at the bolts wasn't much different. Now? More like fizzling at the bolts. The school project, time travel… Navigating emotions was hard enough, but with stress at an all-time high? No wonder Holt was so reactive.
On the bright side, all this time meant they could mend the gap between them; be normal again. They kinda were, already. But… She peeled off her remaining black bits of nail polish. Being normal with Holt meant anything more or less than a friendship. Thoughtful dates, customized mix tapes, sharing a shake, dancing the night away, some sparkage here and there… Or nothing at all.
Frankie glanced at him, whose hands paused at the strings before playing again. She breathed in. Be there for him, that'd be enough, right? Even if he was sweet or adventurous or fun or looked beyond cute when he smiled or did what he loved—
She shook her head, and her fingernails dug into her palms. Holt lounged on the chair like this was a vacation. They were stuck in the past. They needed to get home. Holt's separation from Jackson had totally taken its toll with his flare-ups, except for now when he looked all relaxed and — Frankie winced. All this smiling would further open the cut on her lip.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they… fixed other things between them. Would it be so bad if Holt treated her like he used to? Static buzzed in her ears, and Frankie brushed down her upright arm hairs.
She let out a long breath. Notes. Back to the notes. Frankie ran her finger along the textured pages of Hexiciah's notebook. The time teleporter was, well, ahead of its time. Extremely complex, yet remarkably simple. The tech background described how and why it worked. He'd always sign his name. Hexiciah, Hexiciah, Hexiciah… At the end of each entry, her pocket pouch felt heavier, heavier, heavier.
Frankie reached for it, her pulse a steady, hollow thump. At Rose's shop, when she and Sparky had split up to grab pieces in the basement, she had seen it. Hexiciah's name, dark and loud from the top shelf. She had unstitched her hand and grabbed it: a letter addressed to him from… Fingers shaking, she unfolded the letter and skimmed to the very end.
Henry Jekyll
Jackson would go on and on about him back when he had worked on his scaritage project. Some days it was fascination. Others, aggravation. It was like he thought his grandpa was cool up until Hyde came into the picture. Dr. Jekyll had planned to separate himself from evil, but all he did was create a monster. Now, Jackson's mom and her son—sons?—were destined to live like him. It was kinda like he had created life, no dead body parts required.
Frankie looked back at the letter, then at Holt. Then back at the letter. Then Holt. Letter. Holt. Letter… Holt… Her fingers creased the paper. It wasn't her place to read it, but she couldn't not show him. One look back, and he caught her eye.
Holt's face broke into a wide grin, and his hands stilled, the room silent. With a flourish, his fingers returned to the strings, and a tentative melody filled the room. He opened his mouth, "Oh..."
She covered her face, which must've totally been reddening. Frankie peeked between her fingers.
"Well, there's this ghoul..." he sang. His expression faltered, and he paused, brows scrunched and head cocked to one side. He frowned thoughtfully and shrugged, strumming faster. "And, uh, she's lookin' at me and she's kinda cool and she's walkin' over to me and she's... Frankie, what's up? Why the long face?" He held the instrument by its neck with one hand and gestured at it with the other. Holt smiled. "I know, I know. The lyrics need an overhaul. But what can I say? Freestyling's rough in front of a pretty ghoul."
A spark sprang from Frankie's bolts, and she winced. Why couldn't that have happened from across the room and not right in front of him?
Holt beamed like he had won a contest, and she ducked her head.
Yep, there was no way she wasn't blushing. Not the time. Now was about the letter not… "Holt." She held it in her outstretched hands, her hair like a curtain in front of her face. "Here."
Silence hung in the air, and he parsed it from her fingertips. "What's this?"
Frankie cleared her throat and looked up. His arms were curled over the instrument in his lap, and he blinked expectantly. The floor had been way less intimidating. "I found it at Rose's shop," she said. "It's addressed to Hexiciah, but it's from—"
"Dr. Jekyll..." Holt murmured, eyes darting along the paper. His gaze shot up. "Did you read this?"
"No!" She pushed her hair out of her face. "I only noticed the names, honest."
"I believe you." His words were measured and slow. "But why did you take this?"
"Because it's about your grandfather. Okay, sure, you and Jackson already know some things, but why not learn more? You deserve to know as much as you can."
"Doesn't matter." He deftly folded the paper in one hand and tossed it atop the coffee table amidst his clothes and the red flowers. His fingers latched onto the instrument. "Jekyll ain't even a doctor yet. No Hyde."
"Oh." Frankie resisted biting her lip. "So… it doesn't help? Not even a little?"
Holt gestured at the mountainous coffee table. "You tell me."
Frankie picked at the seams on her arm. Well, he was giving permission… She grabbed the letter, unfolded it, and read.
Dear Hexiciah,
I hope this letter finds you well. How many times must I say no, I simply am not interested in visiting America. Your talents are missed here in London. There's a bit of a monster commotion and we could certainly use your guidance.
People hurt them. People help them. Admittedly, I think that we humans shouldn't be siding this way or that with monsters. We already have enough problems to deal with people slaughtering one another in wars or even on the streets. For God's sake, the abomination o f slavery has hardly come to a close here! There's much to do to right this world. Perhaps , my friend, my medicinal studies will help the world right itself , as I am remind ed that as a doctor I shall indeed help people , but mending broken bones and healing wounds won't fix their corrupt and broken souls. Nor mine.
I digress. London misses you dearly, and I hope to see you again, especially during this time of crisis.
Sincerely,
Henry Jekyll
Frankie slowly lowered the letter. That was… unexpected. Jackson called Dr. Jekyll "the good one", yet his righteousness here was almost unnerving. But he was also Hexiciah's friend and... She sighed. Holt was right. They'd hit a dead end. All charged up for nothing. But what if… She perked up. "Let's ask Rose how she got the letter!"
Holt stilled and regarded her. "Okay." He leaned back in the chair with an unfamiliar nonchalance. "But I don't think we wanna head back into town anytime soon." His posture tensed for a split second, then his fingers flicked a tune and he relaxed again. He perked up. "Wanna head back to the falls with me? I remember you said something about keepin' me company…"
Frankie met his eyes, bright and inviting; a smile with no hint of it on his mouth. Her chest tightened. A mess of research lay behind her, and they didn't have any time to lose. Or maybe they had too much time? She glanced over her shoulder, and the window above the dining table streamed in the sunset. It matched Holt's eyes.
"Oh, I get it," he said, and she faced him. He got up. "You should check out those notes. Help us get home."
Frankie opened her mouth but stammered. An apology, something—
"You should," Holt cut in. He blinked as if also trying to find words. "I…" His stare lingered, then he shook his head like he'd just woken up. He scrambled to the coffee table and gathered the clothes and flowers. "I got stuff I can do. 'Sides…" A lopsided grin creased his features. "Some alone time means I can write you a real song."
The setting sun dappled the woods with warm light. Holt craned his head aside the large wooden bucket in his arms, brimming with clothes and flowers. Luckily, Sparky had one lying around. He hummed a tune, letting it sway and change with every step. Inspiration nagged at Holt's skull, and his journal weighed in his pocket. But he needed to focus on the clothes before the sun sank, then it'd be just him and good ol' inspo. Sure, being stuck in the past wasn't great, but there were still things to feel excited about. Find joy in. A thrill.
The barrier between Holt and Frankie was crumbling, and it was rad being on the other side! The two of them, working it out.
'Til they made it home, and the wall rose up again.
He stopped humming, then picked up again. Okay, some other guy that may or may not be Jackson could be better for Frankie on paper, but what if Holt was something… more? Would she see him for it? Would she care? He stumbled over a branch. Holt shifted the bucket and ambled onward.
Sparky had gone all over-protective on him, worrying about his granddaughter's future. But why? Frankie was smart. Really smart. Hell, here she was helping them get back home talking science with her gramps. Frankie was smart, brave, and compassionate. And if someone smart, brave, and compassionate wanted to date Holt... that had to mean something good, right? She'd even thought of him when finding that letter—
Holt grimaced. Rose likely had answers about his gramps. Yeah. Rose. Leave the thinking to her, don't make the rattling headache worse. Stuck in the past? No problem, so long as he had a good time. And the first step to having a good time? A rocking outfit.
Blend in. He chuckled. Trendsetting was a blast, and the future famous couldn't blend in or stick to the corners, like Jackson. Holt had nothing to hide.
He hurried over roots and rocks at the sound of the churning waterfall. Holt set the bucket down and wriggled out the clothes, leaving the flowers to slide down in their place. One step closer to some rad new threads. He swept the bucket into his arms and hopped over to the waterfall. It filled instantly, spraying his face and sleeves. His arms remained steady; even lugging it back beside the clothes was no problem. Weird. Hyde heritage had him on the stronger side, but this was different; more. Holt grinned and wiped his face with the lower half of his shirt. Extra fire powers were cool and all, but a little extra strength? Nice.
Holt rolled up his sleeves, the thin fabric was nearly see-through now that they were sopping wet. He breathed in and dipped his hands into the cool water. Freaking fire powers. They'd be a helluva lot more useful if they came with some control over them. He wiggled his fingers as if he could charm the water to boil. No luck. Of course. What had he expected? He barely had control of his powers before the separation; any control now was a long shot.
Holt slumped back and shook the water off his hands. He narrowed his eyes at a flop of wet, red hair dangling down to the tip of his nose. He blew at it 'til he was sputtering, then briskly slicked his hair back. When it'd dry, it'd be a gel-free mess of thick waves. Great.
He rested his elbows on his knees and fished his journal out of his pant pocket. Might as well dig into that inspiration. If he had any left. His slick pen met his fingers when he heard what sounded like voices beyond the waterfall.
Holt shot to his feet. How cool would it be if there was a water elemental out there? Or a water spirit? The voices grew louder with each cautious step he took toward the waterfall, then one voice stood out. Laughter. A blue blur rushed out from behind the waterfall and into the open grass.
Oh. Holt's shoulders slumped. It was just a normie girl in a blue dress; her giggles trilling into the air. She was drenched, and her brown hair was plastered on her face. The girl spun in a circle, then her eyes landed on Holt.
His new buddy, tinnitus, told him how quiet it'd gotten. Shit, the girl was scared. "Oh, hey, don't worry. I'm just hangin' out." He took a step forward, but she jolted back with a scream that rocked his eardrums.
"Mary!" A dark-haired boy jumped out from behind the waterfall, soaked from head to toe and barefoot. He put a defensive arm in front of the girl and then guided her backward, but his eyes were on Holt. "Stay back!"
"No, hey, you guys can do whatever here, it's cool." He took another step forward, only for the girl to let out a high-pitched squeak.
The boy parted from her and took a step toward Holt. Kid was probably a couple of years younger than him. They looked kinda young to be out for a romantic rendezvous. Holt suppressed a laugh. If so, then he had been too at that age.
The boy took another step, then another until he'd built a slow, steady pace toward him. He trembled.
Holt's jaw clenched. So, the kid wanted to impress the girl by confronting, what, a big bad monster? He wasn't no werewolf or golem or even a zombie. He looked pretty tame compared to most monster types, and not some night-lurker, even if he had been nocturnal for around a decade and a half. But these normies hadn't seemed to have gotten the memo. He perked up, and a grin crept onto his lips. This kid wanted to impress his girlfriend by taking down a dangerous monster? He'd get one.
The boy stalked forward, then he squeezed his eyes shut and swung his fist. It was one of the most pathetic punches ever, but it landed on Holt's shoulder. Barely.
The girl perked up beyond the boy, and Holt grinned. It was working. His hands flexed at his sides. Might as well have some fun.
Holt darted toward the boy and he jumped back, "spooked" written all over him. But the kid was resilient; there was no way the girl could tell he was freaked from behind.
"What's that in your hand?" the boy shouted, even though they were right in front of each other. He looked over his shoulder. "Look, Mary, it's attempting to read."
She laughed, and the boy stood a little taller.
Holt gritted his teeth. It was a dumb comment, no big, but the edges of his journal melted anyway. He shook it off and stuffed it in his pocket. Back to playtime.
The boy turned around, cockier, and Holt swung with his free hand. It landed. With a crack.
The boy was on the ground, and the girl shrieked. She rushed to his side, and he scrambled backward, hand on his shoulder.
Holt stumbled backward. He hadn't — He hadn't meant to—
The girl cradled the boy in her arms, who was clutching his own. A large hole split open his shirt sleeve where the blow must've landed. His skin bristled with a hefty red burn.
A soft hissing joined the ringing in Holt's ears. He glanced around, but it followed him. He raised his hand and flinched at the roiling steam. Both of his hands sizzled. "I'm sorry," he stammered, and he willed his hands to cool down. "I can help I..." He took cautious steps toward the girl, who winced at each one. A closer look at the kid, and it was like he struggled to keep his arm up. Could be a sprain or… Holt swallowed. He had to do something.
Holt held out the lower half of his shirt with his left hand and willed heat to his right. It slashed through the fabric like a knife through butter. He held out a long string of cloth and held it out to the girl. "Here. Use this to make a sling and get outta here."
Her brows furrowed, but she took the fabric with a tentative hand. She didn't move.
Holt kept his gaze on the falls. He breathed in and pivoted on his feet, letting them carry him into the woods.
At that, he heard her shuffling into action, and he turned around. The girl supported the boy, his arm slung, as they scurried toward town. Once they were out of sight, their laughter drifted amidst the trees.
"That's the last time I take you into monster territory, Mary," the boy drawled.
She giggled, and it was like this chaotic beat finally slowed.
The monster-normie sitch was already bad here and… Holt let out a long sigh. His powers couldn't work for anything fun, huh? Not like art or music, which he'd only lost control when he'd melt a damn pen. Every time his powers decided to work, new or old, he was a screwup. Even without them, assholes strangers or his damn family would take one look at him and just… Holt glared at his hands.
Tingles had raced across his palms down to his fingertips when they sizzled. At the thought of it, the tingles returned. He raised his eyebrows and rubbed his index with his thumb. Heat. His brows knitted together in concentration, then he flexed his hands as the warmth dissipated. Gone.
A wide grin spread across his face. Holt rushed toward the bucket and skidded to his knees. He dunked his hands in.
The water boiled in no time.