Beastly Beauty

Thirty-Seven

There were two children. Beau saw that now.

The second one was rounder and sturdier. Her dress was blue, and every bit as dirty and tattered as Hope’s.

As they saw Beau, they slowed to a fast walk. “Go. Get out of here!” Hope said to him, while the other little girl turned and walked backward, keeping her eyes on the end of the corridor.

“I can’t!” Beau said. As he spoke, the creature inside the room gave the door a vicious kick, making it rattle in its frame. “Help me. Grab the knob and hold the door closed so I can lock it!”

“No time,” said the second girl.

“But there’s a woman in there … a thing! She tried to kill me!”

“What’s chasing us is worse than what’s chasing you, I promise,” said the second girl as she and Hope passed him.

“Wait, damn it, I need your help!” Beau was about to say more, but a scream of fury coming from the darkness at the end of the corridor cut him off. “Who is that?” he asked, a note of weary exasperation in his voice. “It sounds like Rega. Is she going to try to kill me, too?”

“Stop talking, blockhead, and run,” said the girl in the blue dress.

She shot off then, with Hope right behind her. Beau watched them go, unsure whether to let go of the doorknob or keep holding it. Another scream decided him. He let go, scooped up his tools, and ran, catching up with the children as they turned down another hallway. They were fast, but Rega was faster. She was gaining on them; Beau could hear her shrieks growing louder.

The hallway dumped Beau and the girls out in a wide gallery. Paintings of battle scenes adorned the walls. Suits of armor stood in the corners. A console table, draped with a tapestry, was pushed up against one wall. Another corridor, long and stick straight, led out of the gallery. With a sinking heart, Beau realized that Rega would catch up with them before they got halfway down it.

Hope realized it, too. She pulled off one of her shoes and threw it into the corridor. Then she streaked to the table and grabbed the edge of the tapestry.

“In here! Hurry!” she whispered.

The girl in blue dropped to her knees and crawled under. Beau skidded in behind her. Hope darted in after them and released the cloth. An instant later, Rega pounded into the room. All three held their breath. They heard Rega stop, then chuckle deep in her throat.

“You can’t run forever,” she said.

Beau heard footsteps again, loud then fading. Then silence. He heaved a ragged sigh and leaned back against the wall. Hope flopped against a leg of the table and closed her eyes. The other girl raised the tapestry and peered out from it.

“The idiot took the bait,” she said. “The coast is clear. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute … you’re not going anywhere,” Beau said. “Not until you give me the key back.”

“No way in hell,” said the other girl. “We need it. We have to find one more of us.”

Her voice was a child’s, but her words were weary and jaded.

“Who are you?” Beau asked.

The girl, still peering out from under the tapestry, didn’t reply.

“She’s my sister. Her name is Faith,” said Hope.

“Hope and Faith? That’s so cute. But I want the key.”

Faith dropped the tapestry and turned to him. “And just what do you think you’re going to do with it?”

“He thinks he’s going to find a tunnel,” Hope said.

Faith snorted. “There is no tunnel.”

“Yup. Told him that.”

Beau’s frustration, stoked by fear, was mounting, but he summoned his patience. He reminded himself that his two companions were only children. They couldn’t be expected to know about castles and their construction.

“There has to be a tunnel,” he said. “When castles are attacked—”

Faith cut him off. “This castle, begun by the Normans in 1058 and enlarged in the early fifteenth century by Filippo Brunelleschi, resulting in the high Gothic expression that characterizes it, was built of granite,” she said. “Unfortunately, unbeknownst to the original architects, its foundations were sunk into a deep deposit of schist, a rock that’s crumbly and unreliable. Kind of like you. In fact, if you were a landmass, you’d be full of schist. But I digress. The original builders attempted to dig a tunnel under the castle and moat, but soon discovered that it could cave in at any second and promptly stopped digging. So. Like I said … no tunnel.”

Beau’s mouth was open. He closed it. Then opened it again. “You’re a child. How do you know all that?”

Faith shot him a mocking glance. “Who do you think you are? Don Quixote? Think you’re just going to swashbuckle your sorry ass out of here? Your friends broke the bridge. And there’s no tunnel. You’re sunk, boy.”

“Boy? Boy? I’m nineteen years old, you mouthy little troll. Twice your age!”

“Heh. Is that what you think? You haven’t figured this out yet?” She turned to her sister.

Hope held up a hand. “Stop talking, both of you. We need to listen. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a homicidal maniac on the loose.”

Faith snorted. “Only one? Must be a slow night.”

Anger, frustration, fear, confusion—they finally all burst from Beau. “Who are you, really? Both of you? And who’s Rega?” he demanded.

“Rega?”Faith said, perplexed. She looked to her sister for an explanation.

Hope rolled her eyes. “It’s an anagram. They use them to hide who they really are. Arrogance started it. She thinks it’s clever and mysterious.”

Beau looked between the two girls. “Wait, I don’t get it … Lady Rega is not Lady Rega?”

“She’s Rage,” Faith replied.

“That’s a nickname? What the other ladies call her?”

“No, that’s what she is.”

“An angry woman …”

Faith took Beau’s face in her hands. “They. Are. Not. Women. They are monsters. They destroy everything they touch.” She released him.

“I—I don’t understand,” Beau said, feeling hopelessly stupid.

Hope started to explain. “They are Arabella’s emotions …”

Faith finished. “Come to life.”