A strange comfort blanketed the walk back. Days like today meant the sun's heat would overtake the falls' refreshing air, but here in the past, trees canopied over the forest floor. Dense, vibrant grass and foliage whispered against their ankles amongst the cacophony of bugs. It was a jarring contrast to the quieter, more solemn trip to Epic Falls that Holt knew from the present.
No, the weird part was her. Long, silent moments were shared with Operetta or the coolest chameleon ever, Crossfade. Not Frankie.
She twirled the red flower's stem between her fingers. It hadn't left her hands. The attention she gave it had Holt grinning like the dork he totally wasn't.
Ride the wave. Flirt. That was the move. But each time he thought to try, his mouth went dry. He grimaced. Holt Hyde wasn't shy.
He shifted his gaze, forcing it onto the flowers in his arms bundled atop his outfit. Water could pull this off. Contain it, then make a decent dye to liven up this drab fit. Gray pants, a jacket, and a plain white undershirt. Its ruffle sleeves were fine, like something in those period operas and movies Operetta liked, but the suit jacket? Not in a million years—forget two hundred. Luckily, the shoes Elizabeth had scrounged up were black; he could work with that.
Sparky's home peeked past the trees when Frankie stopped. "Wait."
Holt halted and did a double take. She beamed, the sunlight gleaming off the white in her hair as if there was a bit of sun in her, too.
"Thank you for giving me a chance back there."
His brows furrowed, and he shifted the stuff in his arms. "Yeah, uh... Whaddaya mean?"
The flower spun in her hands like a little dancer, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I mean, I can tell Epic Falls is special to you and, even though I barged in, it was nice to, I don't know… it was nice to be a part of it."
Holt smiled, and Frankie's posture livened.
"There!" She hurried to him. "Your hair! It's glowing. Do you feel it?"
He reached for his locks and flinched at their warmth. Not like it hurt, but it was crazy knowing his fire elemental side was finally getting its kicks. A slight daze faded as he willed himself to cool down. He was fine. Not angry or frustrated or stressed—the thing that led to a thousand melted pens—but good. Great, actually.
Heath's hair would burst into flames with excitement. This had to be the same deal. An annoying one. Hot hands? Irritating as hell, but manageable. Anger was the most emotion his hair had ever shown. Through sparks. But now? Wearing more emotions in his glowing hair? It was bad enough back at the falls, anxiety microwaving his digits when Frankie popped up out of nowhere, just as he needed time to think.
Not like there was much to think about.
Holt Hyde was crushing on Frankie Stein... again.
And it sucked.
Before this 1800s detour, they hadn't spoken in a year. She couldn't possibly have the same feelings. No way. She couldn't. No use laying them on her. This riff wasn't worth repeating. His stomach stirred at the thought. All this unease and, what, nerves?
He shook his head. Come on, nervous? Yeah, right. Frankie held the flower he gave her. It wasn't a dozen dead roses, but it was a tally in Holt's box. Leave it alone, keep it low key—that was the move, if he could stick to it.
Holt allowed himself a smile, eyes on his pile of flowers. "Guess it's more of my fire elemental side. Probably means I'm, ya know, excited…"
Silence hung heavy in the air, and he dared to look at Frankie. Her mind looked elsewhere, the face she made the same before sparking at an idea. Holt hoped for a hint. A sign.
"But remember when that ghoul confronted us at the school yesterday?" she said. "Your hair glowed then. But not like this. That totally looked like it was gonna get worse."
Holt shrugged. "I guess it just glows when I'm excited, not all aggro or whatever. I dunno." He glanced between the flowers in his arms and the one in her hand, then sighed and pivoted. "Come on, let's head in."
"Okay! But wait." The corners of her lips quirked up when he looked over his shoulder. "It's good to talk to you again, Holt."
He mirrored her smile in an instant. "Yeah. Yeah, you too, Frankie."
They made it to the house. Frankie opened the door, but Holt propped his foot, holding it ajar. She darted back and forth, unable to make it past him so, between stammers and a silent agreement, they settled on her holding it for him.
Holt beelined to the living room and dumped his bundle onto the coffee table. He pointed at the unlit fireplace and raised his voice. "No one turns it on 'til I get rid of these, sound good?"
Sparky and Elizabeth sat at the dining table. The former had his nose in a notebook, brows knitted so tight his entire face wrinkled. Elizabeth clasped her hands together and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Not to worry, Victor and I will not touch it, Mr. Hyde."
"Holt," he shot out, his body going cold. After seeing what Hexiciah wrote about Grandpa J, the last thing he wanted to think about was Grandpa H. "Please. Just Holt."
She raised her arms, softening. "Holt, then." Elizabeth leaned forward and scrutinized the pile, grimacing. "And what exactly do you hope to do with so many flowers, Holt?"
He gave her an exaggerated smirk, and she rolled her eyes. No more dirty looks, so that was a win. The girl was no Operetta, but she had a diva spark to her and a resilience only the best women he knew carried. Totally wild that Frankie wasn't her flesh and blood.
Sparky finally unstuck his eyeballs from the notebook—Hexiciah's. Holt flopped onto the loveseat, a wash of relief loosening his limbs. So the legendary Frankenstein was on track to help them after all.
"We need to head into town," Sparky said.
Elizabeth sat up in her seat. "All right then. Where to, Victor?"
"Whoa, wait." Frankie fidgeted at the door. "What do we need to go to town for?"
Leaning back in his chair, Sparky tapped the notebook with a quill. "According to Hexiciah's notes, we have a fighting chance of finding a great deal of the pieces in New Salem, if not all. We simply find out where they are and how to acquire them."
A smile wobbled onto Frankie's face, then she scratched her cheek, right on the stitch. "But what about any pieces that aren't in New Salem?"
"Not to worry." The chair thumped when Sparky rose. He slammed shut Hexiciah's notebook and tucked it in his jacket pocket. "I know someone."
The sun beat on them like drums, and for once since that first, miraculous, musical day of Holt's life, it was shit comfort. With each step toward town, he tensed more and more, like his body would shatter on impact. All for some damn normies. Even without his firsthand experience, humans held prejudice toward monsterkind and even their own kind. But that was in the future. And now, in 1815… He swallowed but straightened, fighting the nerves that said this wasn't gonna turn out good at all.
He caught sight of his sleeve and frowned. The lamest wardrobe choices of the century didn't help. It was brown instead of light gray, like the one he left at the house. His frown deepened. This was next on the dye queue.
They walked and walked until buildings crested beyond the trees. Sparky started when Holt jogged up to him, arm linked with Elizabeth's.
Holt glanced over his shoulder, then back. "This is a safe part of town for monsters, right?"
"Despite it being the human part of town, yes," he said, his tone flat.
Pulse jumping, Holt focused on his strides. "Cool, cool."
Soon, the grass turned to cobblestone beneath their soles. New Salem was nothing like the city in the present. For one, it reeked of literal shit. Old-timey brick and stucco buildings lined narrow roads; good luck guessing where the mall was. But amidst it all, people. Humans swarmed about, chatting or yelling; crossing the streets without a second glance at horse-drawn carts. The crowd was enough to cover them, sure, but Holt stuck behind Sparky and Elizabeth, hunched as close to out of sight as possible. At least the former had some height to him.
Frankie giggled awkwardly when Holt bumped into her. "Sorry." Her nearness rivaled his, but her back was straight; her eyes alight. She took in the town like a kid in a theme park.
A pang hit Holt's chest. Damn, it'd be nice to feel like that right now.
"No worries," he whispered, nearly stepping on Sparky's shoe. He slowed his pace but kept huddling. Being on the short side came in handy, not that he minded anyway. His jaw clenched when a normie bumped into him. "What makes this part of town safe for monsters again?" he hissed.
"Just follow along," Sparky said through his teeth.
Holt grunted. Well, they made it this far. He lurched to a stop as Sparky and Elizabeth stilled, and peered beyond over their shoulders at a squat, red brick building.
Nothing special about it. Probably would've been tough to pick out without Sparky leading the way, who entered with the nonchalance of his own home.
The door closed with a whine, and Holt stared for a long moment before taking a breath and facing the room. His foot tapped, but he didn't care. This was a safe space for monsters, but couldn't humans see them?
Holt rolled his shoulders twice. Relax. Humans were everywhere. So what? This place was pretty much empty. No, not pretty much empty; completely empty. The hardwood floor creaked as he walked. A wooden counter and trinket-lined shelves stretched along the far wall. In the corner beside it, a door.
"Rose!" Sparky called. "Where are you?"
The mystery door opened and a short, tanned young woman with fine, jet-black hair pulled into a bun stood in the doorframe. She rushed behind the counter and folded her hands together without even a glance their way.
"Vitor," she drawled, "don't think you can just show up with another favor. I'm not interested in your experi… ments…" Her brown eyes widened when she finally looked up. She cleared her throat and gestured at Holt and Frankie. "I'm guessing this is not about one of your experiments? Unless it is. In which case, I don't want any part of something like—"
"It's not," Sparky said, his tone clipped.
"Oh?" The woman pressed a hand to her chest, regarding them. "You've brought quite an adorable crew with you, Victor."
Elizabeth slipped off her gloves and crossed her arms, muttering under her breath, "She talks as if we're infants. She cannot be much older than us."
Frankie leaned toward Holt and said just as quietly, "I'm sure she's much older than me."
He stifled a laugh as Sparky continued.
"I need parts for a machine."
"A machine for..?"
Sparky remained tight-lipped, and the woman shrugged.
"Couldn't hurt for a lady to ask, Vitor."
He scoffed. "You would have to be a lady first."
She rolled her eyes, catching Holt's mid-roll, and they lit up. "Oh! Allow me to introduce myself." She scurried around the counter and damn curtsied in front of them. "My name is Rosamie Rickett. It's a pleasure to meet you all." She paused as she looked at each of them, her smooth features breaking into a crooked smile. "But most people call me Rose."
"Nice to meet you, Rose," Frankie said, enthusiastic as always. "I'm Frankie. This is Elizabeth, and this is Holt. You already know Sparky."
Rose's eyebrows shot up, her smile widening. "Sparky? Is that what the monsters are calling you now?"
He waved her off. "Yes, yes, it's what I'm called in school. Now, can you help me or not?"
She dragged her finger along the counter as she returned behind it. Arm outstretched and palm wide open, she asked, "May I see what parts you need, exactly?"
He ignored her and opened the notebook beside her hand. With another eye roll, Rose's arm fell to her side, and she followed his finger along the pages of the notebook.
"Now," he said with a breath, "some parts will be trickier to find than others, but your shop likely has some basics." Sparky took out a rumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. "I've also listed the ones I highly doubt you have. But I'm sure you can find their location."
Rose took the sheet and scrutinized it with squinted eyes. "What kind of machine needs a part as bizarre as this?"
"Do you have any"—he swept his hand along the opened notebook—"or not?"
She folded up the list and tucked it into her blouse. "Calm down, Vito-bobito. I'll take you and your friends down to the basement and we'll find out." She sauntered over to the door and held it wide open. As each of them passed by, she sent them long, lingering stares. Especially Holt and Frankie. No surprise there.
The smell hit first: coffee. Holt shut his eyes. He was somewhere else, years ago, relishing one of his first mornings. Casta Fierce's album had pulsed from his headphones, and he drank his first-ever cofficcino, admiring the city in the daylight. He opened his eyes, glancing to his side. Frankie had been at the Coffin Bean that day, too. Before then, the last time they'd been there together was on a date, sharing a shake. Holt swallowed. Rose's shop wasn't too different from the Coffin Bean. Bookshelves covered each wall, and monsters sat at tables sipping their drinks. Most had books in their hands, talons, or fins, and all were freakishly calm within a town full of humans.
"What is this place?" Frankie asked, that awestruck look taking over.
"Oh, this?" Rose glided in front of them, brown dress swishing. "This is my library." She ran her fingertip along the spine of a book on the nearest shelf. "Mostly fiction. Some poetry. If you can't already tell, lovelies, I have quite the soft spot for monsters." She sent a wink Frankie's way and turned on her heel. "Come along, then."
They fell into step behind her, and Elizabeth leaned toward Sparky's ear as they linked arms. "What was that she called you earlier?"
"You mean my endearments?" Rose sent a smirk over her shoulder. "Sweet, foolish little Victor."
Sparky sighed, but Elizabeth's grip on him tightened. Holt held back a laugh at the irony of it all.
"Hey, Rose," Frankie called out. "Were the Spanish ever in New Salem?"
"They were," she said, her voice thick like it was stuck in her throat. "Until they left, and the Americans came."
The corner of Frankie's lips curved upward, and she whispered under her breath. "I knew it."
Holt couldn't help his grin. It'd been too long since he'd seen a look like that on her face. "Oh yeah? How?"
"The buildings."
"The-buildings-outside buildings?" He faced her, stopping in his tracks. "You guessed that just by being out there?"
"Yeah!" She nodded ahead, and they moved onward, excitement blossoming on her face. "Though I couldn't have guessed without Rochelle. She's a total architecture ghoul, and she told me all about how buildings can tell a story. History, too!"
A warm haze settled over Holt; no doubt his hair was glowing. But so what? He itched for more. What else did Frankie know? What more could they talk about? He opened his mouth, ready to find out, when the others stopped short.
A musty smell cloaked the back of the shop. Rose hefted open another door and again left lingering stares as they passed. Something between Holt's "party master praise" and that damn "zoo animal curiosity." Not bad, but not welcome. Rose struck a match, illuminating a wooden staircase below. She shoved past them, nodding to follow as the stairs creaked beneath each step.
It was a short walk. Tiny windows filtered in enough light to make out the overflowing shelves and boxes. Holt blew out a breath. The girl was a hoarder. Compared to the basement, the upstairs was nothing. Littered objects ranged from completely unrecognizable to bizarrely familiar.
Rose snuffed out the match, the room darkening only slightly. "Victor, if you'll follow me." She strode into a corner with him and Frankie trailing after.
Holt remained at the staircase with Elizabeth, the others speaking in hushed tones. He stifled a laugh when Frankie made a cheery exclamation and quickly apologized.
Elizabeth wore the same expressions his mom did on laundry day. "And I thought Victor was bad."
"You're kidding, right?" Holt scoffed. Sparky's place was the definition of tidy.
"Maybe in New Salem, but Victor's room in Geneva is nothing like what you've seen."
Heath flashed in his mind, and Holt chuckled. Bet his cousin could give Sparky's Geneva room a run for its money.
Holt took out his pen and strode deeper into the basement. He held it out toward the items along the shelves, steady thumps and clinks easing him for the first time since entering town. A twang sounded, and he stilled. Some oblong banjo was tucked into a shelf, hints of sunlight turning its wooden surface gold. Putting the pen away, he peered closer. A mandolin. Dust flew off with another pluck of a string, that same twang vibrating into the air. Off key, but it worked. Gingerly, Holt grabbed the mandolin's neck and blew dust off a couple more strings, then tuned it. He played a quick riff and relief surged through him like electricity. Music.
A nursery song overcame his fingers—habit—and then imagination took over. The best way to thrill the soul? Experimentation.
Someone cleared their throat, and Holt froze on a literal awkward note.
Rose smirked, appearing at his side. "Musical monster, are you? I figured you for a fire elemental of sort."
"I am. Half." He stepped back, rolling his shoulders. "The music though," he grinned and gestured to the stringed instrument with a flourish, "that's all me." His grip tightened on the mandolin, like an extension of his arm.
Elizabeth seemed almost impressed, and Sparky looked impassive. Frankie clapped her hands together and sent Holt a bright smile.
His own cranked up a notch, and he ducked his head. Holt glanced back at Rose. "Is it cool if I keep this?"
"But of course!" She gestured widely. "You've certainly earned it."
He pumped his fist. "Alright!"
Rose grinned, then swiveled around, hands on her hips. "Have you found everything you need, Victor?"
He stood from his knelt position. "Yes, I believe so. However, these parts are much too—well, see, it would prove difficult to—"
"Say no more, Vito." She waved him off. "I can have them boxed up this evening and sent to that little cabin of yours. As for the rest of your items," she removed the folded list from her blouse, "I'll ask around town. See if any humans or monsters have a clue where they could be."
Sparky gave a curt nod. "Thank you, Rose."
She gasped exaggeratedly. "Oh Victor, your gratitude is very much appreciated."
He rolled his eyes and started toward the staircase. "I shall compensate you once the job is complete."
"No need," she said with a glance Holt and Frankie's way. She followed him and Elizabeth upstairs as they trailed behind.
The town was brighter somehow. Moving through it was like cutting through butter. Holt's fingers twitched on the mandolin, eyes on the forest ahead. Sitting down, figuring out a tune, a melody, a song—it all lay ahead. No sour-faced normie in the crowd could change that, not when he had music.
Frankie nudged him. There was that smile again. "I'm happy for you, Holt."
"Thanks." His steps faltered as her face fell, focused on something beyond him. He opened his mouth and crashed into Sparky, who'd stopped outta nowhere. "Yo, why the—?"
He whirled on them. "Stay behind me." Cobblestones clicked beneath his soles as the others picked up the pace.
Frankie scurried to his side. "Grandpa, what's going on?"
"Yeah, why the turnaround?" Holt spun on his heel.
A commotion broke, and townsfolk parted past a cluster of normies—teenagers, clamoring and yelling. Between the mesh of jackets and hats was a tall, freckled guy in steel blue with scruffy blond hair, his expression twisted into some warped version of glee. And among them all… Holt's heart dropped to his stomach. A small, horned creature ricocheted between them, kicked around like a ball. Blondie and friends were bullying a monster. So much for the safe part of town. Fear pierced his chest, so he did the easy thing and grasped anger, slipping it on like his favorite red jacket. Holt took one leaden step forward.
"Come along!" Sparky's voice was distant; swallowed up like an echo.
Holt's nails dug into his palms, fists heating up. His jaw tightened. Turn around; leave it behind. He moved when Frankie bolted past him. In a blur, Sparky stood in front of her, hands braced on her shoulders.
She wriggled and called out to the monster, but he didn't budge. Frankie faced Sparky head-on. "We need to help them!"
He turned her around, inches from stepping onto Holt's toes. "You asked for my help," Sparky said, "you're getting it."
Holt started at Frankie's fingers on his wrist, and he forced himself to simmer down. He met her eyes. Her hard, determined expression from a moment ago softened as she scanned his face.
"I understand it doesn't look good," Sparky continued, "but you can't put yourself in danger. I won't allow it."
Her posture eased in his grip, but no doubt Frankie was doing her damnedest to hold back that hero complex of hers. She trailed down to Holt's hand until his fist loosened and he let her in. She gave it a gentle squeeze, her voice small but steady. "Okay."
Sparky released her and strode onward with Elizabeth. Frankie's hand slipped free of Holt's, an empty space.
He caught her fingers. She blinked, looked between their hands, and took hold. Holt squeezed her hand, a silent thanks, and they left town behind.