11. Belle
Belle
When all else fails—vandalism. I think that’s a proverb or something, but what the fuck do I know?
I’ve ransacked the vanity, pulling out the many shades of lipsticks and using them to draw middle school-esque penises all over the gold and green-encrusted wallpaper.
I know, it’s pointless. They’ll still attack me with lipstick dicks decorating the wall, but it does make me feel better to see their pristine castle under the disarray of my own creation.
So much for getting the Pans to view me as a human, because as I thought, they are far from human themselves.
My arm is almost completely healed by now, of course, but I don’t let the pain of Rourke’s hook slicing through my skin leave my mind.
I don’t know if he truly meant to hurt me, but he sure as fuck drank my blood.
And Peter was no better, laughing at my wound, at my fear.
They are both feral in their own fucked-up ways.
Perhaps if I make myself deranged, surround myself with debris, they’ll be disgusted with me and leave me alone. Here’s to hoping they don’t wanna fuck me if they view me as an animal. I don’t see any pigs wearing bikinis or anything around the manor, so the odds seem to be in my favor.
Besides, there’s nothing else to do. I haven’t forgotten the kernel of hope Rosalia left me about the rebels, but until I figure out a way to discover more about the Darling's power, vandalism it is.
I eye the draping and pull my dagger out of my bra, tapping the point against my lip.
Bra is a generous term for the strap of fabric wrapped around my chest because I'm in a place like Neverhaven, where they don’t care enough about women to invent something that would support our breasts.
I turn to Weasel, lounging at the foot of my bed, gnawing on one of my shoes I chucked at the walls after storming back to my room last night. “What do you think? Should I cut these up and do a little macramé?”
He pauses his gnawing and shrugs his tiny raccoon shoulders.
Fast-heeled footsteps grow closer, followed by a high-pitched voice. “Have you gone mad?” Rosalia screeches, entering my room with wide eyes.
I smile, looking at my chaos. “Yes, I think I have.”
She’s at a loss for words as she stares around the room. “Are those…”
“Fat cocks? Yep.”
“You know we’re gonna have to clean this up, right?” She gives me a heated stare.
I stutter. “Well, don’t!”
She laughs, humorously. “Funny, as if that’s an option.”
“Shit.” I swivel around, reassessing my damage. “I didn’t mean to make more work for you guys…”
“Never mind.” She sighs and reaches out her hand to me. “Let’s go.”
“Go? Where?”
“We're getting out of here.”
A stupid spark of hope flickers in my chest, and she must notice my eyes lighting up. “No, I mean we’re getting out of this room. Going on a walk around the manor. You clearly need some air.” She grabs my hand and pulls.
“No! I’m not leaving. They could get me.” I yank back until she releases me.
“They can get you in here.”
She’s right, but… “So, why haven’t they?”
She shrugs. “Too drunk to care, I suppose.” She bends down, collecting my scattered articles of clothing that I threw from the dresser. I meet her, taking the bundle from her hands and helping pick up my mess. “Maybe Peter, but not Rourke.”
She stands straight, deadpans. “Are you really asking me to explain the inner workings of a Pan? Rourke of all people?”
“Fair.”
Rosalia sighs, examining me as she places her collected discarded articles on the bench by the window. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Do I have to?”
“What else are you going to do? Still want to rub your shit all over the walls like an animal?”
I laugh, surprised by her candor. “No.” I feel stupid now. I’ll have to think of another plan for rebellion, and what better way than for some fresh air to clear my thoughts. I walk toward the doors, gathering Weasel in my arms before I go on my way. “Fine, show me around this dump.”
Rosalia catches up, grumbling. “Do we really have to bring the vermin?”
Weasel wiggles in my arms, poking his head over my shoulder and chomping the air in the direction of Rosalia behind me. “Ah, you hurt his feelings.”
She scrunches her nose and sticks out her tongue at Weasel. “I’ll hurt him a lot more if he doesn’t stay out of the staff cupboards.”
I laugh as Rosalia rushes in front of me so I can follow her down the hall. For the first time since arriving in Neverhaven, I feel somewhat normal, and I hate it. I can’t forget my imprisonment, even if it’s nice to have a break from my rage for a while.
Most of Hollowbrook is dreadfully boring.
Yeah, it’s fancy, with golden candelabras lighting the corners and large, gold-framed art decorating every wall, but it’s really just empty.
Besides the quiet steps of the staff and an unnerving feeling that I’m being followed, despite constantly turning to find no one behind me, it’s completely lifeless.
I could understand how someone would go mad in a place like this.
We pass the first interesting thing since we started this stroll. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the French door, with rows of books visible on the other side.
“Hollowbrook Library,” Rosalia replies.
“Let’s go in.” I yank at the crystal doorknobs, struggling to pull them toward me.
“Can’t. Locked.”
“Can we get the key or something?”
“Only the Pans can open the doors, and they haven’t been in there in ages.”
“Why keep it locked?”
“The library is centuries old, holding information on any subject you can think of. Knowledge is power, and Lord Pan doesn’t want the help to have access to that power.”
Power. I’m desperate for the word. There’s a reason Lord Pan keeps these doors locked, and perhaps it’s because it contains the secrets to undoing the Darlings magic. I have to get in. “Well, can you ask one of the boys to open it for us since Lord Pan is away?”
She gives me a look and crosses her arms. “How about you ask?”
“No.” I may be desperate to get into the library, but I’m not putting myself in any proximity of the Pans if I can.
She continues down the hall, walking backward as she speaks to me. “The help can’t ask the Pans for anything. That’s not how it works around here.”
I don’t move, still wanting to figure out a way to get into the library, even if I have to break the doors down, but the feeling of being watched settles over me again.
Weasel growls at something behind my shoulder, but when I turn, there’s nothing there, just a large window bordered by heavy draping.
Rosalia is now all the way at the end of the hall.
I rush to catch up with her, not wanting to investigate if there’s something hiding behind the curtains.
I turn a corner and am blinded by light.
The hallway opens to a large glass-paneled door, leading out to a jungle of green.
“Come along.” Rosalia motions for me, holding open the door leading out to the atrium.
I race the distance, stepping out into a grass-carpeted sanctuary, the sights and smells throwing me off-kilter.
I can’t mask my wonder as my head swivels to take in the sights.
Enormous, high-branched trees line the perimeter, creating a canopy overhead that casts sun rays like bursts of glitter.
Green roses take up most of the flower beds, but among them are sprinkles of pinks, lilacs, and maroons, flowers I don’t even know the name of.
Rock formations crawl up the walls of the manor, water trickling down and creating a river that runs through the center of the room.
Rosalia smiles, standing on a bridge over the stream at the center. “This is the Hollowbrook greenhouse. It leads out to the main courtyard behind the estate.” She points to the large wall of glass beyond.
“It’s my favorite place in Hollowbrook. Plants have always been my special interest.” She picks up a fallen pink flower and brings it to her nose, color blooming in her cheeks as she inhales.
I bend over to place Weasel on the ground before racing up to her. “It’s amazing,” I say, looking up at the high glass ceiling above me.
She grins at me, and I blanch, crossing my arms over my simple, yet regal, pastel green gown. I like Rosalia, would even call her a friend, but I still don’t want her or anyone else in this cursed estate to witness me growing any sort of fondness for it.
Something rustles in the bushes behind me. I turn but find just an average bush on the other side of the stream. Well, that’s not true. It’s purple, so insane for no reason, but it’s not moving. “Are there animals in here?” I ask.
“Yes,” she points to Weasel, lying on his back near my feet, blowing a purple leaf up and down into the air.
“No, besides him.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s possible some have gotten in.”
Even with the beauty around me, I still have the unnerving feeling that I’m being watched. I examine the scenery more closely. A figure ducks behind a tree. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing.
“What’s what?” Rosalia shades her eyes with her hand and looks in the direction I’ve signaled.
“There’s something behind that tree!” I yell, wanting whatever it is to know I see it. The figure pokes out from his hiding spot, led by his hook, pulling the rest of him into view.
“It’s Rourke! Oh my God, he’s following me!
That creep!” My voice picks up a frantic speed.
I expect him to charge me, furious that I caught him sneaking up on his prey.
But instead, he moves slowly into view, a caught look on his face.
He stares at me, eyes wide as he sidesteps, his back nearly touching the glass wall behind him until he reaches the exit, opens the doors, and runs through the courtyard beyond.
“What the fuck?” I ask in an awed whisper.
“What the fuck indeed…”
“Is he toying with me, trying to scare me?”
“He didn’t look very ferocious to me. More like a caught child.”
I stomp my feet, outraged that he ruined the glimmer of contentment I’ve felt in days. “I wish he’d stop playing games, that he’d just do whatever he plans to do to me. He’s already drinking my blood, he might as well eat the rest of me!”
“He drank your blood?” Rosalia asks with wide eyes.
“Yeah! At dinner last night, he cut my arm with his hook and then drank right from the tap. Fucking lunatic!”
“Hmm.” Rosalia taps her rosy lips, staring out to where Rourke disappeared.
“Hmm, what?”
“You have pixie blood.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Perhaps you’ve healed him some.”
“Healed him? He still looks like a monster to me.” I ponder his existence for a moment. “What is he anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
I shoot her a look. “He’s not exactly normal.” I pause, realizing the statement doesn’t make sense in a place like Neverhaven. “At least he looks different from the other Pans.”
“Oh, yes. Well, he is a human, just with crocodile bits added. And the hook, of course.”
“Why?”
“He was attacked by a crocodile as a child. His mother was a notorious, ruthless pirate queen. She was too busy stealing from other realms that she didn’t have time to watch over her son.
He fell into a spring one day and was attacked.
His mother was more worried about revenge against the beast than about saving Rourke.
She made a big show of ripping the crocodile to shreds and demanding the crew’s Alchemist use the bits to patch up her boy.
I hear that he was quite a lovely and curious child before the modifications, but what do I know, it’s all just servant gossip. ”
“Shit.”
“Shit indeed.”
If what she says is true, I can imagine it would be hard to form a shred of decency in an upbringing like his. But just as I let the edges of my heart soften for the brute, I reassess. No, he’s still a monster, one that’s almost ripped me to shreds. I won’t feel sorry for him.
“Perhaps your blood returned a human part to him.”
A glimmer of hope dwells in my chest. “Do you think I could get him to let me go?”
She scoffs. “He’s still a Pan, human or not. You may clear the fog, but it will be hard to erase his loyalty.”
My glimmer darkens. She’s probably right. Peter seems human, monstrous on the inside, yes, but human nonetheless, yet no closer to letting me free. I should expect the same for Rourke, regardless of his mental state.
“But…” she says, weighing a thought back and forth in her head, leaning over to pick a green rose. She presents me with the strange colored flower. “Perhaps you can get him to do other things for you. He did seem almost…smitten.” A determined, hidden meaning rests behind her eyes.
I consider it. If my blood is what he’s after, perhaps I can offer a trade. If he wants my blood, he can have it, but maybe he can offer access to his precious library in return. If I can’t trade for my freedom, I’ll trade for the power to seize it on my own.