Beastly Beauty

Thirty-Eight

Beau looked at the sturdy, glowy little foulmouthed kid sitting only inches away from him and laughed. “No way in hell. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you.”

Faith shrugged. “I get that a lot.”

A dizzying sense of unreality gripped Beau. He pushed it away. “How can emotions come to life? Emotions aren’t real.”

Faith snorted. “Have you ever actually felt any?”

“Yes, I have. But mine, like most people’s, live on the inside,” Beau said. “They don’t come out and walk around the place, wearing fancy dresses.”

“Arabella isn’t most people. And this castle isn’t most places,” Faith said. “I imagine even you have gathered that by now. There’s a bit of dark magic at work here.”

Beau shook his head. The sense of unreality deepened. He felt as if he were stepping further and further out onto ice that he thought was frozen hard, only to hear it crack under his feet. What Faith had just said … it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. There was no such thing as magic. Then again, how else to explain the beast? The two children’s otherworldly glow? Arabella’s gruesome court?

“So all her ladies-in-waiting—” he began.

“Are not ladies. Far from it.”

“Hesma? Iglut?”

“Shame and guilt,” Hope replied. “Didn’t you ever wonder? I mean, come on … Hesma? Iglut? Pretty unusual names.”

Beau gave a sheepish shrug. “I thought they were Swedish.”

Hope closed her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Who are the others?” Beau asked. “Rafe … R … A … F … E …” He snapped his fingers. “Fear!”

“I am awed to be in the presence of such genius,” said Faith.

“LaJoyuse … Sadindi …”

“Jealousy. Disdain.”

“Espidra … wait, don’t tell me.” There was a layer of dust where the floor met the wall. He started drawing letters in it. When he figured it out, he slowly drew his hand back, shuddering. As if Espidra herself had dragged a sharp fingernail down his spine. “She’s the boss here, isn’t she?” he asked.

“She is,” Hope said. “That wasn’t always the case. We used to be.”

“What happened?”

“Espidra’s hold over Arabella grew; ours waned,” she explained. “We fought hard, but she fought harder. Arabella fought, too. Day after day. Until the days became years, and the years became decades.”

“Decades …” Beau echoed.

“Nearly a century now,” said Faith.

“You’re not joking, are you?”

Hope shook her head.

“Arabella, you two, the others … you’ve all been here for a century?” Beau spoke the last word in a whisper.

Hope nodded.

Beau closed his eyes. He pushed his hands through his hair. “But that’s not possible,” he said.

“Except that it is,” Faith said.

“So you’re, what? A hundred and ten years old?” Beau asked, opening his eyes.

“Mmm, a little bit older,” Hope said.

“And Arabella?”

“Arabella is not one of us,” Faith explained. “She is a human being, trapped in time.”

“But how—”

“Arabella’s heart broke. A hundred years ago. And Espidra found the cracks. She found a way in,” said Hope.

“Like the creeping mold that she is,” Faith spat.

“She locked us away,” Hope continued. “Me in the cellar, Faith in the attic.” Hope smiled at her sister. “I just found her. We have much to talk about.” She turned back to Beau and covered his hand with her own. “Beware of Espidra,” she warned. “Never let her touch you. Don’t even let her near you.”

Faith started to crawl out from under the table. Hope followed her.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Beau asked.

“We have another sister. We think Espidra locked her away, too.”

“Who is she?” Beau asked.

“Love.”

“We’re trying to find her,” Hope said.

“We will find her,” Faith asserted.

“And then what?” asked Beau.

Hope gave him a grim smile. “And then we’re going to kill Espidra. The three of us together.”

Beau recoiled. “Whoa, kids. Slow down,” he said, shocked. “That’s murder you’re—”

Faith cut him off. “Before she kills Arabella.”

Beau, shaken, said, “Is that what Espidra wants? To kill Arabella?”

Hope started to answer him, but before she could, the tablecloth was yanked up with a sharp snap. A face peered down at her—skeletal, sunken-eyed, lips pulled back in a rictus grin.

“Rega! Come quick! I found them!”

It was Lady Rafe. Her voice sounded like a cemetery gate, its hinges shrieking in the wind. She backed away, still holding the tapestry in one hand, pointing at the table and the fugitives under it with the other.

“Rega! Reeeeega!” she shrilled.

“Shut your mouth, you ghoul,” Faith said, crawling out from under the table. Hope was right behind her.

Faith snatched the cloth from Rafe, pulled it off the table, and threw it over Rafe’s head. As she did, Hope charged her and knocked her down. She hit the floor with a tumbling crash.

Hope whirled around to Beau; she pointed past him. “Take those stairs to the third floor,” she whispered. “Turn right at the top, then follow the main corridor. It’ll take you to the tower. Hurry. I don’t think Rafe saw you, but if she does, she’ll tell the others.”

And then the two girls raced off, heading down the corridor into the darkness. As Rafe moaned and thrashed, feebly trying to extricate herself, Beau crawled out from his hiding place and peered down the corridor after them. He saw the two children feel for each other’s hands. Their light glowed a little brighter as their fingers locked. He took an uncertain step in their direction, trying to decide whether to give chase or retreat. The sound of footsteps, pounding down the hallway, finally got him moving.

A few moments later, Beau was safely back in his tower room. Panting, drenched in sweat, he strode over to the window and opened it. As the cold winter air rushed over him, he took a deep breath and wondered—not for the first time—if he was losing his mind. In the space of an hour, he’d encountered mayhem, maniacs, and magic. And it wasn’t even midnight.

Worst of all, he’d failed to get to Arabella’s old chambers, failed to get the books he’d planned to use to pressure her to help him build a bridge.

He heard Faith’s voice echoing in his memory. She is a human being, trapped in time …

Unbidden, his heart clenched with sadness for Arabella. And with pity. He didn’t want to feel these things, but he couldn’t help it. What was it like for her, to be made a prisoner in this place for a century? Was that why she wouldn’t build him a bridge? Because she was lonely after a hundred years and wanted company?

But that makes no sense, Beau reasoned.

When she’d first summoned him from his tower, she’d been furious that he and his fellow thieves had destroyed her bridge. And right before that first meeting, he’d overheard her angrily interrogating Percival, telling him that she would find out who had raised the portcullis and let the thieves in, and when she did, that person would pay for his disobedience.

No, Arabella had made it very clear that she did not want him here.

Beau closed the window but remained where he was, looking out of it into the deep winter night, troubled by yet another unanswered question. “Somebody raised that portcullis,” he said to his reflection in the glass. “Which means somebody wants you here … but who?”