Beastly by Alex Flinn Read Free Book Online

wood.
    “I’m here,” I said very soft. “I’m going to open the door.”
    “Then open it.”
    I pulled the door open. It seemed like all the sounds of Manhattan stopped, and I could hear that moment like I was out in the woods: my bedroom door scraping against the carpet, my breathing, my heartbeat. I couldn’t begin to imagine what my father would do, how he’d react to his son being turned into a monster.
    He looked… annoyed.
    “What the… why are you dressed that way? Why aren’t you in school?” Of course. He thought it was a costume. Anyone would. I kept my voice soft. “This is my face.
    Dad, I’m not wearing a mask. This is my face.”
    He stared at me, then laughed. “Ha-ha, Kyle. I don’t have time for this.” You think I’d waste your precious time? But I tried my best to stay calm. I knew if I got upset, I’d begin to growl and snarl, to paw the floor like a caged beast.
    Dad grabbed a chunk of my face fur and pulled it hard. I yelped, and before I could even think, my claws were out, close to his face. I stopped myself as my paw met his cheek. He stared at me, panic in his eyes. He let go of my face and backed away. I could see he was trembling. My God, my father was trembling.
    “Please,” he said, and I saw his knees begin to buckle. He stumbled against the door. “Where’s Kyle? What have you done with my son?” He looked behind me, like he wanted to push past, to come inside, but he didn’t dare. “What have you done? Why are you in my home?” He was practically crying, and I was too, looking at him. But I kept my voice steady when I said,
    “Dad, I am Kyle. I’m Kyle, your son. Don’t you know my voice? Close your eyes. Maybe you’ll recognize it.” Though even as I said it, the horrible thought grew. Maybe he wouldn’t. We’d spoken so little the past few years. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize my voice. He’d throw me into the street looking like this, and tell the police his son had been kidnapped. I’d be forced to run away, to live underground.
    I’d become an urban legend – the monster who lived in the New York sewer system.
    “Dad, please.” I held out my hands, checking to see if I still had fingerprints, if they were even the same anymore. I looked at him. He was closing his eyes. “Dad, please say you know me. Please.” He opened them again. “Kyle, is it really you?” When I nodded, he said, “You’re not playing a joke on me? Because if you are, I don’t think it’s the least bit funny.”
    “No joke, Dad.”
    “But what? How? Are you sick?” He passed his hand across his eyes.
    “It was a witch, Daddy.”
    Daddy? I’d reverted to the word I’d used for two minutes between the time I’d learned to talk and the time I’d realized that Rob Kingsbury wasn’t anyone’s “Daddy.” But I said, “There are witches, Daddy. Right here in New York City.” I stopped. He was staring at me as if he’d been turned to stone, as if I’d turned him to stone. Then, slowly, he sank to the ground.
    When he came to, he said, “This… this thing… this disease… condition… whatever’s happened to you, Kyle… we’ll fix it. We’ll find a doctor, and we’ll fix it. Don’t you worry. No son of mine is going to look like this.”
    Then I felt relieved, yet nervous. Relieved because I was sure that if anyone could fix it, my father could. My father was a household name. He was powerful. But nervous because of what he’d said: “No son of mine is going to look like this.”
    Because what would happen to me if he couldn’t fix it? I didn’t believe for one second in Kendra’s second chance. If my father couldn’t fix it, I was finished.

    2
    Dad left, promising to be back for lunch after he did some research. But the clock dragged past one o’clock. Two o’clock. Magda went out shopping. I learned that it’s almost impossible to eat breakfast cereal if you have claws. Hard to eat anything, actually. I fed my beast face with an entire package