Cooper had no doubt that Monroe could still make them feel sick to their stomachs, but he couldn’t do it in the coldly real way this monster did.
Because part of what made this monster hideous was that it was so obviously real, down to the warped shadows it cast against the rocks. It was consistent, not warping itself to make room for his own fears. It was straight out of a nightmare—but it was right there, an unreal thing that had never been meant to be flesh-and-blood.
It was an enormous patchwork monster made of leathery dragon wings—shining with an iridescent slime—snake eyes and a cobra hood, a long purple tongue, a scorpion tail, and blood-red scales scattered all over with tufts of mangy looking fur.
Jaguar fur.
Cooper shifted back to human. His griffin was freaking out too much right now—he had to contain it somehow.
His mouth was as dry as dust.
What little skin the creature had was covered with grotesque, disfiguring scars. Dozens of bite-marks, maybe even hundreds of them.
“Roger,” he said, naming the monster for the man he knew it was—or the man it used to be. “God, Roger, what did you do?”
The monster screeched out a kind of hideous victory cry. Even Phil recoiled from it, his face twisted in unmistakable disgust.
Then, unbelievably, the creature talked.
Roger’s voice was still the same, as familiar as ever. It only made the contrast with his new body worse.
“I did what I always wanted to do, Cooper. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right about that,” Gretchen said, looking at him with horror.
It almost didn’t seem to matter when Monroe got out of the car and shifted at once into a giant, poison-green snake with an enormous, leathery black cobra hood.
Sure, his fangs were dripping with venom. Sure, he could make them see things. But he was nothing compared to Roger. Even Gretchen, who’d said several times that she was scared of snakes, didn’t flinch.
Monroe’s ego had always been touchy. Cooper distantly wondered if it bothered him that he was no longer the scariest guy in any given room.
“Roger’s a chimera now,” Phil explained. His voice throbbed with a mixture of revulsion and awe.
“Chimeras aren’t like that,” Gretchen snapped. “They’re part lion, part goat, and part snake. They’re natural, they’re supposed to exist. They’re not... whatever the hell this is.”
“Details, details,” Phil said, and laughed. His laugh sounded nervous now, though. Maybe he didn’t like the way Roger was looking at him. “He’s a mutt, like you, only at least he did it on purpose. He finally broke through. He’s part basilisk, part jaguar, part dragon—and part who knows what.”
“The whole is greater than the sum of the parts,” Roger said, thrashing his long scorpion’s tail. His eyes were still fixed on Phil.
They were oil-black eyes, with slit-like pupils in a bloody crimson. No wonder Phil didn’t like having them trained on him.
“How?” Cooper finally said. He sounded just as stunned as he did horrified.
“It took a long time to wear down the immunity. And more bites, from more people, than you’d ever believe. I tested it on someone else first, obviously. After that first go-around with Monroe, I learned to always have a guinea pig. But when it worked on him, I knew it would work on me.”
“You did this to someone else?” Cooper said disbelievingly. “Did he agree to that?”
“Sacrifices had to be made.”
“Just not by you? What happened to the guy you did this to?”
“Who cares?” Roger said. “I’m finally what I’ve wanted to be my whole life. Phil’s right—I finally broke through.”
“You finally broke your own soul,” Cooper said.
“You’ve wanted to be this your whole life?” Gretchen said.
They were all treated to the terrifying sight of chimera-Roger smiling. A long, snakelike tongue flicked out of his mouth, tasting the air.
“No,” Roger said. “I always wanted everything. Now I have it, and I’m not losing it.”
In a flash, Cooper understood why Roger wasn’t looking at him even half as much as he was looking at Phil.
Cooper had never come face-to-face with Roger’s true nature before. Roger had always presented Cooper with a carefully maintained front, playacting the kind of benevolent, fatherly boss that Martin Powell just naturally was. The act had been good—good enough for Cooper to always dismiss the little niggling things that had bothered him, like Roger’s passionate desire to take on as many of Monroe’s basilisk skills as he could.
But now, he saw Roger for what he really was. He wasn’t much of a