Here Be Monsters - an Anthology of Monster Tales by India Drummond, S M Reine, Jeremy C. Shipp, M. T. Murphy, Sara Reinke, Samantha Anderson, Anabel Portillo, Ian Sharman, Jose Manuel Portillo Barientos, Alissa Rindels

alchemy, chemistry, anatomy and superstition. All these elements combined had produced his monsters, and all of the elements were necessary to destroy them.
    As the body count rose, he trusted Lux more and more, to the point where he didn’t even inquire about her strategies. He simply waited for her call.
    The Doctor was absorbed in a new project, and his faith in his own control over her was absolute.
    As if all that she contained, all that she was, was what he had put in there—his own witch’s brew of cruel, cold potions. He allowed her to read. He was oblivious to the pathways growing through her mind, the connections being made that had turned her many pockets of knowledge into a powerful network of resources.
    From herself and the others, Lux had learned that their mutations continued to evolve, just like their minds. He had archived their files too soon.
    He collected hearts. Framed pages from old medical books, plastic anatomical models, the drawings of DaVinci, the speculations of the ancients…
    But the heart had no secrets. Muscle and blood, entrances and exits, chambers, electric impulses, systole and diastole. No mystery.
    Brains were a mystery, minds even more so. He even spoke about the aetheric spirit sometimes. And yet, there were hearts everywhere.
    A memento of his old obsessions, surpassed now and forgotten. Mere decoration.
    Lux’s favourite was a marble heart, an antique paperweight. It was carved from blue-veined white marble with exquisite detail, and perfectly proportioned.
    Her own heartbeat was faster than it should be, faster than any human’s. Maybe she would die young, or live forever. It had worked without falter till now but, if she was ever examined by a regular doctor, it would cause some alarm.
    *****
    She always disliked breathing in the complex. That’s what they called the underground extension of the house, the lab, the cells, the other rooms.
    The air down here was filtered, processed, fabricated gas that made her lungs cringe.
    It didn’t matter that she had grown up in the complex, with precious little outdoors time. There was no nostalgia there. Who would be homesick for a plastic cell and the hum of machines keeping you alive?
    But she took deep breaths and measured steps, a good little monster doing her chores. No feelings, no wishes, no superfluous thoughts.
    The steel doors swooshed open, her biometric scan a flawless match.
    *****
    The Witch was next.
    She was one of the most dangerous, not just because of her abilities but because she’d want to keep Lux alive, keep her for herself. The Witch was one of the smartest minds to escape the Doctor’s nursery.
    Lux had prepared herself for a long time, studying the files, adamant about not flinching at the most brutal tests. She had read many of those reports before, all of them in fact, even the ones from the dead. Each one was a one-way mirror into a bubble of pain and isolation. She was familiar with the bubble. She had one of her own. The Doctor had never allowed her to read her own file, but she suspected that he was still writing it. His last monster.
    The Witch was hiding in plain sight.
    No shady alleys or trailer parks for her. The apartment was beautiful, a welcoming space designed for comfort. It wasn’t even bobby-trapped, but of course, an empa-telepath has her own in-built alarm system. Not to mention weapons.
    It wasn’t a pristine abode. Lux found it pleasantly dishevelled, a textured chaos of life being lived. She walked into every room, the methodical exploration of a well-trained killer, getting the feel of the place.
    But hiding places are useless when facing a telepath.
    According to the file, the Witch could detect her emotions, and possibly hear her thoughts, from at least two rooms away. Who knew how much bigger her range might have become since the break-out.
    She examined the clothes carelessly flung everywhere. They were soft, colourful fabrics. Not garments to fight in. Exotic images adorned