This Monstrous Thing Read Online Free Page A

the scar move with his skin. “It’s strange, you know. Having scars and not knowing where they came from.”
    “Well, any others you can’t remember?” I asked.
    “All of them.” He ran his fingertips along a seam in his skull. “I don’t remember getting any of them.”
    I scrubbed at an oily spot on my spanner and said nothing.
    Most of Oliver’s memory had come back to him, slowly and with coaxing on my part. He’d returned to the worldblank, but things like speech and reading and motor skills had come back quickly. The memories had been harder. I tried to supply him with what I could, but I had a sense that instead of genuinely remembering things, he mostly just took my word for what I said had happened. Sometimes he’d surprise me with a memory I hadn’t fed him, though what came back was unpredictable—he remembered specific fights with Father but not a thing about Mum, the color of the walls in our shop in Paris though he had lost Bergen entirely, that he hated Geisler though I had to remind him why. It scared me a bit, the things he found without my help. Mostly because there was still a chance the truth of the night he died might return without warning, and it wouldn’t line up with the story I’d given him.
    I snapped the band of my goggles to keep them from sliding down my nose. “Well, lucky you’ve got me and I remember everything. Take a breath.” Oliver obeyed, and I pressed two gloved fingers against the gear to test the placement. “That’ll work for now. One of the bolts is stripped, so it won’t stay in place for long. I’ll bring a new one next time I come.”
    “And what am I meant to do until then?”
    “You can hold on to my pliers in case you need to tighten it.” I fished around in my bag until I found them, then tossed them on the desk. They skidded to the edge with a clatter. “They’re not really meant for bolts, but Father will miss a spanner. How’s everything else running?”
    “My arm feels stiff.”
    “Probably needs to be cleaned. I haven’t got oil today, but I can give it a pulse. It might help.” Oliver made a face, and I almost made a smart remark about how he should be used to the pain by now, but changed my mind at the last second. I retrieved the pulse gloves from my bag and swapped them out for the leatherwork ones. Oliver slumped in the chair as I rubbed my hands together, both of us watching the pale energy gather between the plates. “Sorry, they take so bleeding long to get a charge going.”
    “Tell Father you need new ones.”
    “They’re hard to get now. Every tool the Shadow Boys use is monitored dead close. Shopkeepers have to do an inventory for the police of who buys them. Some places you need a permit.”
    “Geneva’s getting smarter.”
    I separated my palms with a grunt. A flicker of white-blue light ran along the plates. “Brace yourself.”
    I pressed the gloves to the conducting plates on clockwork shoulder. There was a faint flash as the metal connected, then Oliver’s whole body jerked as the shock went through it. The gears in his arm sped up as the energy coiled through the mainspring, running faster than before. He bent his elbow a few times, and nodded. “Better.”
    “Next time give me some warning before it needs oiling.”
    Oliver swatted that away, then stood up and rotated his mechanical arm in its socket. “You think you’ll stay in Geneva?” he asked.
    “Father seems keen on it. You don’t remember Morand, do you?” He shook his head. “He runs a boardinghouse just over the border in France for clockworks who need a place to stay. He keeps trying to get us to come work for him there, but Father isn’t interested. I think he and Mum are getting tired of moving around so much. I just wish they’d gotten tired somewhere friendlier.”
    “No, I mean you. Will you stay?” He scooped up a handful of paper scraps and tossed them into the fire. “Weren’t you meant to apply to university this year?”
    “I