Beast (MC Fables #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

B ELLE

“And the princess lived happily ever after.”

I close the book of fairytales and rest it against my lap.

“Yay!” cries Aurora, the five-year-old blonde cherub I babysit five nights a week while her parents work late.

It’s bedtime and we’re snuggled up against her pillows.

“When I grow up, I want to be a princess,” she says.

“You already are,” I say, giving her a little bop on the nose. She starts giggling. “You were named after a princess, weren’t you? Remind me again which fairytale she’s from?”

Aurora sticks her little arms up in the air and shouts, “Sleeping Beauty!”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s right.”

She curls her arms around me. “Please read me another story, Belle. Please.”

“You know I would read to you all night long if I could but then your mom and dad would get mad.” I make a pretend mad face and she giggles. “Besides, you have your costume party at school tomorrow, and everyone knows that princesses need their beauty sleep.”

“They do?” She yawns and rubs her eyes.

“Uh huh. So you need to close your eyes and fall into your dreams, sweet Aurora, because tomorrow you’re going to be the belle of the ball.”

She’s going as her namesake, Aurora from Sleeping Beauty. Her mom, Dani, is a big-time radio personality with her own show, and somehow managed to get a designer to create the perfect Disney princess costume for her.

Aurora pouts. “Emma Duncan is going as Elsa, and she says Elsa is better than Sleeping Beauty.”

“She did?” I gasp dramatically. “Well, I’m sure Emma Duncan isn’t the authority on princesses.”

“And George Brown is going as a Ninja Turtle, and he says princesses are stupid.”

“Well, that wasn’t a very nice thing for him to say.”

“He’s not a very nice boy.”

“Well, sometimes boys aren’t very nice. But it doesn’t mean you can’t be nice back to him. Try it. He might just change his mind about princesses.”

“Do you think so?”

“Maybe.”

She yawns again, and her lids grow heavy. “I wish you were taking me tomorrow, Belle. Maybe Mommy will let you come with us.”

“Me too, sweetheart.”

But I won’t be. Dani has made it clear that daytime is her time and I’m not invited.

“Goodnight, Belle.” Aurora’s voice is a soft whisper. Her large eyes grow small, and her lashes flutter before they finally lower.

“Goodnight, sweet Aurora.”

Bending down, I kiss her on the cheek, then secure the comforter around her tiny frame.

As I sneak out of the room, I hear the front door open and close.

I look at my watch. It’s seven-thirty and no one is due home for another couple of hours.

I wonder if it’s Dani. Sometimes she finishes her shift at the radio station early and makes it home in time to kiss Aurora goodnight. But it’s not Dani, it’s her husband Julian.

“You’re home early,” I say from the top of the stairs.

He’s shaking off the rain from his hair and carrying a bottle of wine. He looks up when he hears my voice and smiles.

Somewhere in his late thirties, he’s already showing signs of premature balding and thickening around the waist.

I don’t have a lot to do with Julian. I’m usually leaving when he’s just getting home. We once chatted over coffee in their palatial kitchen, but it was uncomfortable and forced, with neither of us having a lot to say. He is socially awkward, while Dani has a big personality and an even bigger presence.

After seeing him at a handful of events in the past six months, he gets lost in his wife’s shadow and it’s obvious it frustrates him.

“I’ll just get my bag,” I say, coming down the stairs and following him into the kitchen.

“Don’t leave,” he says. “Stay, have a glass of wine with me.”

I eye the bottle. I haven’t had wine in a while. Not since Austin broke up with me over Valentine’s Day dinner, and I’d tipped the contents of my glass over him when he’d told me about Julie. And Christine. And that bitch at the burger joint… Frieda. I moved my stuff out of our apartment that night, and the next day I’d hauled ass back to St. Boniface.

That was eight months ago. A glass of wine sounds good.

“Sure, that would be lovely.”

I settle onto one of the stools at the counter and watch him fill two glasses.

He hands me one.

“What are we toasting?” I ask.

He smiles. “You.”

“Me?”

His smile turns serious. “It was your birthday last week.”

“Yes, it was…”

Is it weird that he knows it’s my birthday? I barely speak to this guy and now he’s toasting my birthday? Not even Dani mentioned it.

“I was putting some paperwork away last night and I saw it on your employment form. Thought it would be nice to celebrate.”

“Oh, I see. Well, okay, thanks.”

We clink glasses and I take a sip. The wine is good, thick and purple, and sweet with berries. I relax and take another mouthful as I look around the kitchen.

“Good?” Julian asks.

“Oh yes, thank you.”

I take another mouthful because something seems off. I feel it in my gut. But I tell myself to stop being such a worrier. Julian is just being nice.

“It feels strange not at least acknowledging it. Aurora has grown to be quite fond of you.”

“She has?”

“I have too,” he says with a strange look on his face.

The weirdness level in the room shoots up.

“Excuse me?”

He puts down his wine. “I want to get to know you, Belle. I don’t want us to be passing ships in the night. I want to know you. You look after my daughter five nights a week. It seems a bit aloof of me not to get to know the woman who spends so much time in my house.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and I shift uncomfortably. The way he’s looking at them…like he wants to eat them.

Something isn’t right here.

I put down my glass. “I should go.”

“Oh no, no, please don’t leave.” He rushes around to my side of the counter. “Am I being weird? I’m being weird. I’m sorry.”

I stand up and reach for my bag. “It’s okay, really, I need to get home.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His gaze locks onto mine, and I start to feel sorry for him. But he can’t help himself and reaches for my hand.

I try to yank it away, but he tightens his grip. “Julian, please?—"

Without warning, he tugs me to him, and I fall against his chest. “Oh, Belle,” he cries, his mouth finding mine desperately.

His wet, loose lips are cold and slippery as he tries to swallow my face.

I push him away but lose my balance. And because this is my life and not some fairytale where things actually work out for the main character, the moment his tongue sweeps into my mouth, the front door opens and Dani walks in. Even worse—because I’m about to fall over, thanks to Julian’s enthusiasm—I grab onto him to stop myself from falling, which only makes things look more suspect.

By the time I push him off me, Dani is walking into the kitchen, murdering us both with her eyes.

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” she fumes, dropping her Birken handbag on the ginormous kitchen counter.

Julian leaps away from me like I’m a vibrating ball of anti-matter.

“What a fucking cliché,” Dani seethes as she stomps towards Julian and thrusts a pointed finger into his spongy chest. “The idiot husband fucking the slut nanny while the successful wife works late. Hardly original. But then originality isn’t exactly what I’ve come to expect from you, I suppose. Boring old Julian, with a personality of a wet mop. How long has this been going on? What would’ve happened next if I hadn’t come home when I did, huh? You going to bend the young tart over the kitchen counter and fuck her up against the dishwasher.”

My mouth opens. Slut nanny? Young tart?

Sweat beads Julian’s forehead. “I swear it wasn’t me. I can explain everything.”

“Fine, explain it to me.” Dani puts her hands on her hips and glares at him. But Julian is too intimidated and can’t get a word out, infuriating Dani even more. “Come on then, you philandering fuck, I’m waiting.”

This is spiraling out of control.

“Dani, you’ve got it all wrong,” I say.

But Dani turns her razor-sharp death glare toward me.

“And you , you little hussy, go on then, tell me I didn’t see my poor excuse for a husband groping the nanny when I walked in the door.” Her wild green eyes sharpen on me, her thin lips tight as she warns, “I dare you.”

I’m taken back by the venom in her voice and the hate in her eyes.

But I don’t really blame her.

If I walked in on my husband groping the nanny , I would probably react the same way.

“You really think I’m interested in Julian?”

“Oh, let me see, you had your tongue down his throat, so yeah, I really think you’re interested in Julian.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Oh please, I saw it with my own eyes.” She takes a predatory step toward me. “But I’m interested to know, what is it you want from him? It can’t be his dad body or his exciting personality, and let’s face it, he hardly won the lottery in the looks department. So what is it? You think you can fool around with my husband and play mommy to Aurora, then squeeze me out of my own home? Is that it, Belle. Do you want to be me?”

“What? No. You’ve got this all wrong. I’m not interested in Julian and for the record, it wasn’t me who initiated the kiss. Or the wine. I was trying to leave when he?—”

“Get out. Get out of my house now and don’t ever come back.”

My thoughts turn to Aurora and how this will impact us both. Looking after her has been the only decent thing in my life lately.

“Dani, please…”

But no amount of pleading is going to make Dani see her husband is to blame and that I’m an innocent bystander caught in the middle of this nightmare.

It’s raining hard by the time she throws me out and slams the door closed behind me. I stand on the stoop to gather my bearings and decide to call an Uber, but as I pull my phone out of my pocket, it begins to ring.

Its freezing, and I’m shivering as I answer. “Hello?”

“Hi Belle, its Lavinia from the casino. He’s here. ”

My stomach sinks and I close my eyes at the news.

“You asked me to call you when he showed up.”

“Yes, thank you. I appreciate you calling me.” I feel sick. “I’ll come now.”

The Uber is seven minutes away, so I endure seven minutes on my ex-employer’s stoop, listening to Dani yell at Julian, while Julian continues to blame everything on me.

According to him, I’m a temptress and I wore him down with my blatant sexual aura. Not to mention my provocative clothing.

I look down at the Iron Maiden T-shirt, jeans, and well-worn converse high tops and shake my head.

Yeah, I’m a real seductress.

Inside, I hear Dani call me a whore.

It stings because for a while there I really thought I’d found a place I belonged.

She quickly follows whore with the word slut .

If I had a shred of pride left in me, I would wait for the Uber farther up the road in the rain. But after six months of barely affording to eat, pay rent, and keep my head above water, I’m not too proud to stay on my ex-employer’s stoop and at least keep dry.

When the Uber finally shows, it’s a ten-minute ride to the casino, which is just enough time for me to gather my thoughts and realize how fucked I am now that I’m unemployed.

Tears form behind my eyes but I clench my teeth and hold them back.

No point in crying. I’ve already survived so much. This is just another bump in the road. Right?

By the time I arrive at the casino, I’ve managed to keep the tears and self-pity at bay. Feeling sorry for myself has never worked. No point starting now.

As far as casinos go, St. Bon’s isn’t anything to write home about. It doesn’t have the razzle and dazzle of some of the bigger casinos, and the overpriced drinks are watered down and questionable at best. But it’s popular with the locals, and one of those locals is my uncle, Maurice.

Uncle Maurice likes to gamble. Unfortunately, he isn’t very good at it and has lost more than he would care to remember.

He struggles with his addiction. It’s the reason I came back to St. Boniface. He needs someone in his corner right now, and I’m the only family left willing to help.

When my parents died, he was there for me. Now, I’m here for him.

“Would you mind waiting?” I ask the Uber driver. “I’ll be two minutes.”

He gives me a pointed look. “It’s raining. Everyone wants an Uber tonight.”

“I just need to collect my uncle from inside and I’ll be right back.” I dig into my pocket for my last five dollar bill. It’s not much of a bribe. But enough to maybe keep him here for five minutes. “Here, take this. I’ll be quick.”

The Uber driver accepts the five dollars with a nod, and I climb out and disappear inside the casino.

I find Uncle Maurice at a slot machine. His face lights up when he sees me. “Belle, what are you doing here?”

He gives me a toothless smile.

“What are you doing here, Maurice? We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but I can explain everything.”

At sixty years old, my uncle looks like a crazy professor. White hair. Wild beard. Big eyes. Frenetic energy. He wears a wrinkled Coca-Cola T-shirt over faded khakis and a scuffed pair of running shoes, one with its shoelaces undone.

He's eccentric. Absentminded. Always distracted. Always bouncing from one wild idea to another.

“I was on one of my afternoon walks and I found a twenty dollar bill. Twenty dollars, and I thought I could double it. And I did Belle, I did. I won almost a hundred dollars.”

He looks proud with himself. I look at the coin container in his hand.

It’s almost empty.

“Where is it?” I ask.

“I was going to win it back.”

I let out the deep breath I was holding. I do that when I’m stressed.

“You’re not meant to be here. What are you going to tell them at the meetings?” He attends Gambler’s Anonymous every Thursday and then an AA meeting on Friday. “You know, you’ll have to be honest with them.”

He looks crestfallen and starts to get upset with himself, and I feel bad for getting angry at him.

I look around the room with its gaudy lights and flashing slot machines and hate every inch of it. It’s noisy and garish, and it stinks of stale alcohol and body odor. Dreams are lost here. Hours stolen and lives changed. Maurice can’t help it. He’s an addict, and unfortunately his addiction is winning. He’s not weak. He’s sick.

“Come on,” I say gently. “Let’s go home. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How about I fix us some of that chicken noodle soup you like so much?”

My uncle’s face lights up. “That sounds nice, Belle. Real nice.”

“Okay then, grab your coat and let’s go home.”

When I get back to the apartment, I’ll ring his sponsor and we’ll work out a new strategy to help him.

As we walk away from the ringing bells and dazzling lights of the slot machines, a strange shiver crawls across my skin. It tickles the hairs on the back of my neck and slides down my spine. We’re being watched. I do a quick scan of the room but nothing seems out of place.

I try to shake it off, telling myself I’m anxious from being fired and from finding out how deep my uncle’s gambling addiction has gotten its claws into him.

But as we step outside, the sense that someone is watching us grows stronger, and my gut tells me it’s not anxiety.

It’s instinct.

Something is coming.