The Musician and the Monster: A gothic Beauty and the Beast retelling (The Castamar Duology Book 1)

Chapter 1

Music says things words never can.

I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry I killed you.

Ceridwen Kinsley sat on the roof of her family’s house, as she often did, playing music into the night. This place would never truly be home. That title was reserved for their country home, or rather, former country home—the one where she’d grown up. But it was never the same after Mother died. Nothing was.

Ceridwen pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders—a poor defense against the approaching winter and even less against the ache in her heart. Time passed, but the pain of loss lingered on, especially given the role she played in that tragedy.

The cool metal of the flute pressed against her lips as she played her fourth song of the night, the mournful notes ringing clear from her perch atop the city house. Every night Ceridwen played for her mother, as she had before her father’s ruined finances forced them to this small city of no consequence. The half-crumbling house in the old part of the city was all they could afford, and sometimes even that seemed like a stretch.

She longed to play for others, but no one would pay to hear the flute. Not in the backwater city of Teneboure in the far north of Castamar. Nor did her father consider it a proper occupation for a young woman despite their need for money.

Even so, music spoke the truths she dared not say aloud, and this little token of song, something her mother had dearly loved, was the best apology Ceridwen could offer her in the beyond. A familiar, hollow ache radiated in her chest. Can she even hear me there?

Some nights Ceridwen felt her presence, her eyes on her. A tingle across the cheek. A shiver down her spine. The slightest hint of a reply on the breeze. It was enough. It didn’t matter if people talked about the young woman who played her flute on the roof.

Dim light glowed from the gas lamps lining the streets in the wealthy southern district of the city. A glowing fa?ade, like the fine clothes its people wore to hide their shallow hearts. Even if its residents hadn’t gossiped about Mother’s passing, they surely commented about where the family resided in the old district, with its aged buildings and lack of more modern conveniences. They were one step away from paupers, and everyone knew it.

Ceridwen’s gaze wandered north toward the grand old manor—the view she preferred—where it loomed on a rise at the edge of the city, a handful of blocks from the house. Few lights glowed in the gray towers, the only sign anyone lived there. Deliveries were left at the gates, no balls graced its high halls, and few servants ever came or went. Lord Winterbourne valued his privacy, or so people said. It was the gossip of choice for over a month after he arrived in the city last winter. Whatever went on beyond its stone walls proved an enigma, one that drew her attention often as she played.

A familiar clack of wood—the gate to the little yard closing down below—interrupted her song. Ceridwen’s brows furrowed as she picked up the tune again. None of her family would be out this late. Few people were at this hour.

The family goat gave a loud bleat. A chilly breeze brought another sound—a voice, a stranger in the yard. Ceridwen’s breath hitched as she lowered her flute and strained her ears. On shaking knees, she edged toward the low railing.

Nell bleated again. Wood groaned.

“Quiet, you.” The gruff voice floated up from somewhere below.

She sucked in a breath. The animals. They had so few already.

Ceridwen flew through the small attic door, yanking it shut behind her in a clatter. The musty, aged scent of the house wrapped around her as she descended the stairs two at a time.

“Ceridwen?” Jaina called from the end of the hallway. Her brow creased with worry, adding to the wrinkles marring her forehead.

The kindly housekeeper and her husband, Gerard, had followed the family to Teneboure, the only staff they could afford to keep. But they were more like family than anything. Jaina had cared for Ceridwen since childhood, especially after Mother died, and Gerard’s ability to find work was one of the limited things that kept them afloat.

“Get Father,”Ceridwen said in a harsh whisper. Her heart pounded as she slid around Jaina, brushing against the rough stone wall.

The floorboards creaked and groaned as she raced down the stairs and through the hall to the small yard adjacent to the house. Ceridwen’s dress swished around her booted ankles as she slid to a halt on the little dirt pathway, lit only by the sliver of the moon glowing above.

“Come on, you,” said the voice from the street outside, accompanied by the clomp of small hooves.

Nell. Ceridwen raced through the gate, flute in hand. She couldn’t lose her, especially not to some blasted thief in the night.

“Stop, thief!” she yelled.

The man in dirty and tattered clothes turned in her direction as she raced onto the rain-slicked cobblestones.

“Go back, girl.” He pulled a knife from his belt. The other clutched a rope tied around the goat’s neck.

Her legs froze as she caught sight of his weapon. “Dear Goddess,” she gasped.

“Ya hear me? Stay away.” He backed down the street, nearing an alleyway.

The flute went icy in her grip, the keys biting into her palms. They couldn’t afford more loss and misfortune. Summoning her courage, Ceridwen advanced.

The man tugged the rope and stalked her way. “I’m warnin’ ya.”

Father. Gerard. Her heart raced as she flicked her gaze to the house, praying for anything other than the empty yard that greeted her.

“Please.” Someone. Anyone. But if she waited for Father or Gerard, it might be too late. The thief could get away, and who knew if they’d be able to track him down? The nearby houses loomed dark and empty. Few lived in this part of town anymore with its old houses and little yards. She’d never thought it a problem until this moment.

Goddess, give me strength. Ceridwen advanced on the stranger who stood still in the street, knife toward her. She raised her hands, flute clutched in one, the other empty. “Please don’t take her from us.”

The man leaped forward, thrusting the knife in her direction. Ceridwen yelped and lunged backward. Nell bleated again, struggling against the stranger’s hold, but he only jerked the rope tighter.

“Get gone, girl, or I’m gonna—”

A deep growl echoed from the shadowed alleyway, sending a cold sweat breaking out over Ceridwen’s skin. The thief twisted toward the sound. The rope he held dropped from limp fingers. Nell ran back to the house, never slowing.

Red eyes glowed as a form stalked on all fours into the street. Skin as black as night stretched tight over bones. Hanks of dark hair clung to its knees, elbows, and the ridge along its spine. The thing was too big for a wolf. Too…wrong with its lanky limbs.

Run, run, run.A voice screamed in Ceridwen’s head. But she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t respond to the panicked commands racing through her.

The monster slunk toward the man as she watched in horror, unable to move, its maw bared to display wicked fangs.

“Demon!” The man shifted his stance and swiped at the beast. It reeled away with a sharp screech. Claws swiped and missed. The second knife swipe struck home, leaving a streak of red across the monster’s leathery shoulder.

Time slowed as the beast reared and then leaped. An icy chill wrapped Ceridwen in a vise, constricting her chest. A scream split the air. Both figures tumbled onto the ground.

Her eyes snapped shut. Goddess, no. This wasn’t happening. A dream. A hallucination. It had to be. She’d wanted the man gone, but this?

The screams cut off abruptly. A shuddering, dry heave racked her body. Something scraped on stone, followed by a heavy thud. The rapid thump of her heart echoed through her soul in the sudden silence.

At length, she forced her eyes open and wished to the Goddess on her high throne she hadn’t.

The creature’s head bobbed, growing larger as it bounded in her direction.

“No!” Ceridwen threw her arms in front of her as the creature approached, rising to the height of a man before it barreled into her. Pain flared through her back and shoulders as they slammed against the stones. Her head followed with enough force that her teeth rattled. A scream lodged in Ceridwen’s throat as her arms flew wide and her flute spiraled away.

Spots swam in her vision as she opened her eyes to darkness pierced by two red orbs.

“Goddess, spare my soul.” The traditional prayer rose on instinct, her last defense against the monstrous thing looming above.

The snarling ceased, though warm, dark liquid dripped from the gaping maw onto her chin, neck, and dress. A hot, coarse tongue licked at the side of her face, sending another shiver down her spine.

“Please,” she begged.

The edges of its eyes lightened, turning white, almost humanlike.

Wood cracked against the monster’s side. “Off her, beast!” Father yelled.

The monster roared and leaped away. Father stood above her, brandishing the splintered end of his cane at the creature.

Ceridwen scrambled back, hands slipping on the wet cobblestones as her mind struggled to take in the monster.

Gerard stepped next to Father, swinging the metal end of a shovel toward the creature. “Stay back, fiend!” he roared.

Neither man would be able to stand against such a monster. It was a miracle Father stood at all without his cane.

The beast’s eyes flicked to her, looking almost human in the pale light filtering down from the moon above. Its irises alone remained red, a dark pupil visible now in the center.

Her rapid pulse hammered in her chest. Ceridwen’s older sister, Bronwyn, dropped to the ground next to her and pulled her into her arms. She stared at the monster with the fiercest look Ceridwen had ever seen, as if she could slay it with a glare alone.

In a breath, the monster turned and ran off between the houses, vaulting a stone wall to disappear into the night.

Bronwyn rubbed Ceridwen’s arms. Gerard knelt and touched her face, Father wobbling behind him. Their mouths opened and closed, but only distant sounds filled her ears. Very slowly, their words came back as the shock dimmed and her heart slowed.

“—wrong, Ceridwen?”

Her hand trembled as she lifted it to touch her face. “I’m all right.”

Other than a bruised back and throbbing head, the words were true. She sat straighter, wincing against the ache where she’d struck the cobblestones.

Boots thumped across the ground and splashed through puddles as Jaina ran up, holding a lit torch. The color leeched from her face, her hand flying to her mouth as she took in the scene. “Sweet Goddess, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“The blood…” Bronwyn touched Ceridwen’s neck. Her hand came away wet and red.

“It’s not mine.” Water from the puddles on the street soaked into Ceridwen’s backside through the material of the dress. She felt horrid and likely looked even worse.

“Where—” Jaina started.

“The monster,” Father answered. “The one the men spoke of.” He swayed. Only Gerard’s quick movement and arm around his shoulders kept him on his feet.

Ceridwen shuddered. She hadn’t considered the risk before rushing out to stop the thief. They’d heard rumors of a monster roaming the streets some nights, but Ceridwen thought it idle gossip or delusions conjured in the wake of too much drink. At worst, perhaps it was a dog gone rabid or a wolf that had slunk down from the mountains. But the creature she’d seen was no wolf, nor man, and certainly no illusion.

“It’s been weeks since the last sighting. Could it really be?” Bronwyn asked as she helped Ceridwen rise. All the aches from her fall made themselves known anew.

Father and Gerard looked between each other, neither speaking.

“Father?” Ceridwen prompted. If he’d heard more, he’d yet to tell them about it.

“We’ll speak inside,” he responded.

Bronwyn picked up a silver object, long, slender, and precious, and offered it to Ceridwen. “It doesn’t look too bad,” she said, fingering one bent key.

“Thank you.” Ceridwen took it. If her flute was all that was broken, it would be a gift from the Goddess indeed.

“So much blood…” Jaina said.

The group turned to her. Jaina peered down the street toward where the monster had set upon the thief.

Ceridwen’s breath hitched as she beheld the ever-growing dark puddle and the figure lying within. The last remnants of her dinner threatened to come up onto the street. After the brief encounter with the monster, she’d nearly forgotten the thief.

Bronwyn took a step forward, but Father threw out his arm, warding her back. “Stay back, girls.”

Gerard guided Father over to the body. Jaina trailed after them, holding the torch. In moments, its light would illuminate the fallen man.

“Don’t look.” Bronwyn wrapped her arms around Ceridwen and turned away herself, but Ceridwen had to see, had to know. A thief the man might be, but no one deserved such a fate.

Bile burned the back of her throat as a bloody face and matted hair came into view. When Gerard swore and reached for a pulse, she finally glanced away. He wouldn’t find one. Glassy eyes had looked right at her from a head twisted around in the wrong direction.