Savage Saints (Monsters of Saint Mark's)

Pie is pleased. “I should’ve thought of a solar generator. That’s such a great idea.”

“You do understand that he used your debt to buy that stuff, right?”

Pie shrugs. “Whatever. The whole thing is pointless, Pell. I’m never getting out of debt. We’re feeding fifty monsters now. And anyway, I’m not sure I mind being stuck here for all eternity.”

I grin big, liking this new development.

We get to the cottage, go upstairs, take off our robes, and then I climb on top of Pie and ravish her all over again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – TOMAS

“That’s perfect. Put it right there.” I point to the spot in front of the cathedral where Batty should place the toaster. We’re turning the patio into our gathering place where we will assemble nightly for Big Jim’s radio show. “What time is it? Cookie?”

He barks out a few grumbly words.

“Good. We have twenty minutes before the show starts. Did you slice the bread?”

Cookie points to the carving board where bread and peanut butter is laid out.

“And the tea?” I direct this to the apothecary monsters. They are gathered around in a circle near one of the pop-up solar lanterns that Madeline—my genius of a girlfriend—suggested I purchase. One of them, a large monster with a long beard and pointy horns, looks over his shoulder at me and gives me a thumbs up as he steps aside to reveal the humming stainless-steel kettle that has been placed on the electricity table where we’re keeping the generator.

“Good, good. Let’s get that toast made and don’t be skimpy with the peanut butter.” I really like peanut butter. Especially on toast. “Who’s in charge of the radio?”

Eyebrows raises his hand, then turns one of the knobs on the front so I can hear the music. They like the music.

“Is that 623 AM?” I ask, with a stern face. Cookie shakes his head. “No. Didn’t think so. Find our show, Cookie. I don’t want to miss a single minute of Big Jim’s monsters.”

They are like children. All of them. Always up to something nefarious and sneaky.

But they are as intrigued about the monster show as I am, so Cookie quickly turns the dial and a commercial for car insurance comes on.

“Better,” I say.

I’m new to commercials. But we’ve been out here messing with the radio and various gadgets for over an hour now, and I’ve come to appreciate them as an educational opportunity. A small window to the world outside of Saint Mark’s. Also, there’s something called a monster truck show coming up on the weekend that seems like a critical bit of information I should know about. I had no idea one could get insurance on cars, nor did I ever imagine that monsters and trucks got together for shows.

I am a monster and I own a truck. So this monster truck show feels like something I should look into.

I never knew there were so many monsters out in the real world. Pell has been keeping things from me. On purpose, maybe.

Which means I will keep things from him as well. On purpose.

The radio crackles and then horns begin blaring, and dogs start barking, and sirens are going off. All the monsters—myself included—gasp with surprise at the noise coming from the little box.

We gather around it as peanut butter toast and tea are passed out.

I take a bite of my snack as Big Jim’s voice booms into the night.

“Welcome to the Hour of Monster Power. The Eastern Seaboard’s only serious AM radio show that pulls back the curtain of conspiracy and reveals the dark truth behind it.”

We gasp in unison again. Leaning in towards the little box, chomping on our toast, riveted by his words.

“We have a very special guest tonight, folks. Very special guest. Sheriff Russ Roth from my very own home town of Granite Springs, PA. Welcome, Sheriff.”

This time I’m the only one who gasps. All the monsters look at me, questioning looks on their faces. “He’s local,” I say. “I know him.”

“Oooooooh,” all my monsters say.

“We banished him from the sanctuary. He’s an eros.”