Beastly Beauty

Twenty-Three

Beau raced down the narrow corridor in the castle’s west wing, tearing past room after room. All their doors were locked tight.

And then he turned a corner, and they were not. In the hallway ahead of him, every single one had been unlocked and flung open. He could see inside them; the hallway was lit by lanterns resting in wall niches.

Someone was nearby; he could hear footsteps. Was it the girl? He tensed in the darkness, listening.

A split second after the girl had bolted from the kitchen, Espidra had recovered her composure and ordered the court ladies to spread out through the castle and search for her.

Beau waited until they’d all left the kitchen, then he’d bolted off, determined to find the child before they did. He’d been careful to avoid the women, and as he looked at the doors now, he wondered who’d opened them. The child? One of the ladies?

Beau knew he couldn’t stand there forever. He’d have to make a move, even if it meant risking discovery. Eyes sweeping back and forth, ears attuned to the slightest sound, he took a few quiet steps. He made it to the first door, on the right side of the corridor, and peered inside. It was empty. He inched to the second room, on the left. It, too, was empty. He moved lightly, willing himself to be invisible. He’d made it halfway down the hallway when the golden clock in the great hall begin to toll the hour—midnight. The echoing chimes were an alarm that should’ve stopped Beau in his tracks, and then sent him running for safety, but he was so desperate to recover the key, he didn’t even hear them. He walked on, and just as he was crossing the doorway to the last room on the corridor, a figure came hurtling out of it and crashed into him with such force that he went flying sideways and landed on the floor.

Groaning, he raised his hands in surrender. Whoever had knocked him down was big and powerful. It had to be Valmont. He waited for the man to shout at him, to grab him and march him down to some dank, dark cell. But as he lifted his head, he saw that it wasn’t Valmont; it was her, the little girl. She was staring at him, her face frozen in an expression of alarm.

“There you are, you little weasel!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.

The girl backed away from him. Her head swiveled toward the staircase; she was listening to the clock.

“Don’t you dare run off again,” Beau said. “You stay there. Right—”

“Go, you dunce! Get out of here!” she hissed, waving him away.

Beau blinked. “What did you just call me?”

“Hide! Hurry!”

“I’m not going anywhere, kid. And neither are you. Not until you give me back the key.”

The last chime sounded. The little girl shrank against the wall.

Good, Beau thought. I’ve scared some sense into her. Maybe she’ll behave herself now.

He waited for her to apologize, to hand over the key. But she did neither.

“It’s coming,” she said, a tremble in her voice. Her eyes were glued to the stairwell.

“It? You mean Espidra?” Beau asked. “I’m not scared of—”

The girl held up a hand, silencing him. Her fear puzzled Beau. She hadn’t seemed overly frightened of Espidra only moments ago, when the two had met in the kitchen. If anything, Espidra had seemed frightened of her.

A second later, footsteps sounded overhead, poundingly loud.

The little girl hurried to Beau; she took his hand in hers. “You need to go,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Get back to your room. Lock the door.”

The footsteps grew louder. They were no longer overhead; they were on the staircase now.

Quick as a minnow, the little girl darted off again. She turned back to him once, terror in her eyes.

“Run, Beau,” she said. “Run.”