The Beast (9 page)

I leave the mare untethered and pick up
skirts weighted down with water to climb the marble staircase. The
door before me is iron like a prison cage and the knocker is in the
shape of a demonic gargoyle. Not even the Beast’s lion head knocker
had ever infused me with so much dread. I raise the heavy thing and
let it drop. The ominous gong is underscored by thunder.

A flash of lightning turns the world briefly
blue and when darkness returns, there is only the smoking
torchlight to see by when the heavy door slowly opens.

“Lyssette,” Monsieur Lafarge says in
greeting, his sickly wrinkled face creasing into a semblance of a
smile. He is nearly of a height with me, his weathered body
disguised with expensive clothes. His hair has been white for as
long as I have known him and in his advanced age it is thinning,
making him appear even more skeletal. “I rather hoped to see you
again.”

“I received your message,” I tell him,
grateful that my teeth stopped chattering long enough for me to
speak clearly.

“Did you? Then you’ve come to offer your
congratulations? I humbly accept.”

“I’ve come to take my sister home.”

His laugh is more of a cough. “Fanciful
child. What do you imagine she will say to that?”

“Whatever is on her mind, she will say it to
me directly.”

I put all my weight against that door to open
it fully. He has no choice but to allow it, weak as he is. I care
nothing for the frailty of his age. “I want to see her presently,”
I say coming inside. It is terribly rude to simply barge into
someone’s home uninvited. Then again, so is coercing one’s sister
into an ill suited marriage.

“Of course,” Lafarge says. “I live but to
serve.” A devil’s words. The door closes behind me with a
resounding gong like a massive church bell. “I believe your sister
is in the back parlor.”

I take that as an invitation to find my own
way. The halls I pass through are filled with portraits looking
down on me. The Lafarge mansion is not one tenth the size of the
Beast’s castle, yet the maze-like passages make it seem endless. I
call out Marguerite’s name again and again, getting more worried
each time she does not answer.

“Marguerite, answer me! Where are you?”

At last I hear her reedy voice and hasten my
footsteps to the parlor at the end of the hall. Only the hearth
fire burns low to illuminate the room. My sister sits primly in a
rocking chair which does not move. She is composed and dressed in a
lovely violet gown but her hair is loose, falling in unruly waves
to her waist and hiding one side of her face.

“Why are you here?” she asks in a brittle
voice.

I draw nearer. “I received word that you are
to be married. I had to see for myself.”

“You’ve seen me. It is true.” She smiles
cruelly. “I’m to be married to a man of means. You can go back to
your monster.”

“Is this truly what you want?” It cannot be.
Everything about this place, about Lafarge and my sister is wrong.
I don’t know what it is, but dread ties my insides into knots.

“It is,” Marguerite says. “I want you to
leave. You are not welcome in this house.”

“Marguerite, I—”

“Go!” she shouts and her eyes glitter as her
hands curl into fists in her lap. More softly, she adds, “For God’s
sake, Lyssette, get out of here.”

I rush to her and take her face in my hands.
She flinches and I brush her hair aside, gasping at the sight her
face presents. Her eye is swollen nearly shut and a dark bruise
mars her features from her temple to her chin. “My God,
Marguerite…. Who did this to you?”

Marguerite’s tears spill down her cheeks.
“It’s you he wants,” she whispers.

I do not waste time. Taking her hand, I pull
her to her feet. “We’re leaving. Now.” Lafarge has not yet caught
up to me. There is no telling what he is planning but I don’t
intend to be here when he gets around to it.

The parlor, more of a gentleman’s smoking
room, has no other door except the one I entered through. There are
swords crossed above the hearth, too far for me to reach, but a
pair of pistols gleams in an intricate case on the mantle. I know
nothing of weapons; not even how to check if it is loaded. The
weight of it in my hand comforts me, as it frightens me.

I lead the way out into the hall but cannot
remember the way I came. I turn corner after corner, try every door
I come to. The ones which are unlocked open onto more rooms with no
other way out. Lafarge’s laughter echoes all around; it is
impossible to tell where the sound is coming from. He is mocking us
and Marguerite is already weeping with fright.

Just as I am about to lose hope, I open a
door and see the garden through the windows. We will have to climb
through them. I thank God they are low enough to the ground to do
it. I help Marguerite through as quietly as possible and follow her
outside.

The lightning has abated but the rain is
still strong.

“Lyssette!” Lafarge’s furious roar is much
louder than should be possible from a man of his constitution.

Marguerite cries out, her fingers digging
painfully into my arm. “Lyssette, let’s go!”

But where? I look around and see nothing
familiar. No one I know has ever come this far east of the village.
Beyond the baker’s house, the land belongs to Lafarge and he is
insistent upon his privacy. Now I can see why. Beyond the fields
which make all farmers jealous, the land is dead and barren. The
ground will not drink of the rain water and so it pools and
floods.

There is nowhere to hide and too far to run
for shelter. It would be too far to run to get out of sight;
Lafarge would see us. “Stay behind me, Marguerite.”

“No,” she cries, pulling me away. “We need
leave. We can outrun him!”

Perhaps, but where would we go? Where would
he not find us?

“LYSSETTE!”

Marguerite screams. Lafarge is coming around
from a side balcony and he has a musket in hand.

“You won’t get away from me again,
Lyssette!”

Shock makes my arms numb and I nearly drop
the pistol. It takes strength I do not feel to raise it. I pull
back the flint lock, my hand shaking. “Stay back!”

“You belong to me!”

I close my eyes and pull the trigger. Nothing
happens. My heart sinks. The pistol isn’t loaded.

Lafarge raises the musket to his shoulder.
“You’ll stay here one way or another!”

Marguerite screams and runs. I pray she finds
shelter; my own feet are rooted to the spot. Fear grips me and I
cannot move, not even to duck for cover. The rain eases and I think
I hear hoof beats. It is nothing but the hammering of my own
heart.

“You abandoned me!”

I hear someone scream my name and my vision
clears to take in more of what surrounds me, though I cannot
believe what I am seeing. A dark rider approaches at a furious
pace, a sword gleaming in his hand. Lafarge doesn’t see him. His
arms shake as he levels his musket at me. The ground shakes at the
rider’s approach; he is upon us.

His gleaming blade slashes down and Lafarge
cries out. The musket drops from his grasp as the rider dismounts
at full gallop, taking a stand between me and the weathered demon.
Past his massive shoulders rising with each breath, I see Lafarge
on the ground, his eyes wide as an owl. “Demon!” he screams.

My rescuer says not a word, though his hold
on the sword tightens.

“Please,” I hear myself saying.

He tenses. “I should have killed you all
those years ago,” he snarls and my legs nearly give way. Bastien?
Impossible.

“It can’t be you!” Lafarge says. “My God… you
haven’t aged a day…”

“And now you’d dare take what’s mine?”

“I… She belongs to me!”

Bastien rushes the old man.

“No!” I cry and to my shock, he stops.
“Please, just take me away from here.”

He turns to me, his face a mask of fury. “I
told you not to leave my castle,” he growls.

“Is that why you’re here? Because I disobeyed
you?”

“You should have listened! You knew how mad
he is and still you threw yourself right into his arms!”

Behind him I see movement. Lafarge!
“Bastien!” I shout.

He dives for me. His arms squeeze me so tight
it hurts and his body bows over me, shielding me completely. A shot
from the musket deafens me. I feel the impact; hear Bastien’s
breath explode from his chest. He holds me tight while my ears
continue to ring.

Bastien’s groan of pain terrifies me. He
shudders against me and his hold loosens. I am able to stand and
turn to see him stagger away from me. Sword still in hand, he turns
on Lafarge and stalks him on unsteady legs. Lightning strikes,
illuminating his bloodied back. I hold back my cry, knowing
instinctively that he cannot last much longer.

Lafarge scrambles away in retreat. He slips
in the gathering mud and his moans of terror make me shake with
fear. But I fear for Bastien more. Once again, the man I thought a
monster raises his sword and brings it down on Lafarge, silencing
his bleating cries.

Bastien releases the sword and stumbles back,
turning unsteadily to face me. Tears blur my vision as I go to him.
He breathes my named as his eyelids droop, and then he falls to his
knees and collapses on the ground.

My own scream echoes across the night.

I drop to my knees next to him and cradle his
head in my lap. The rain is abating now and by the light of the
full moon I see his lips are deathly pale and the ground around us
is soaking with his blood.

He is shaking, eyes closed against the softly
falling rain. I lean over him to shield him. “Oh, God, Bastien… I’m
so sorry. This is all my fault.”

A small smile pulls on his mouth. “No. It was
always meant to end this way.”

“W-what?”

Behind me Marguerite sobs. When she returned
I cannot tell. All my attention is on Bastien. He coughs, a
horrible sound. “One dies,” he says, “for the other to be
free.”

“No!” I cry. “This is mad. Why should anyone
have to die?”

“Part of… curse.”

I refuse to accept that. “Marguerite run.
Take the mare, ride to the healer’s house. I don’t care what you
must do but get him here.”

Wide eyed, she nods and runs.

“Too late,” Bastien says, his teeth
chattering. “Getting cold.”

I lean over him more and rub his arms. “Of
course you are. It’s freezing out here. That doesn’t mean you’re
going to die.” I look around for something, anything, that will
help me keep him warm. There is nothing. My cloak lays heavy and
sodden over my shoulders. It would only cool him more. It is too
far to the house, I cannot get him inside on my own.

He opens his eyes just a little. “I could
almost believe you care for me.”

“Of course I care.” God, where is
Marguerite?

“Maybe that’s enough. To keep me out of
hell.”

“Stop it this instant! No more talk of death
or hell. Marguerite will be back with the healer soon, you’ll see.
And then you’ll feel very foolish for being so dramatic.”

He smiles again, one hand reaching up to
brush my cheek. But he is too weak already to do it. I take his
hand and press it to my cheek. It is cold as ice.

Bastien’s smile fades and his eyelids droop
as the night fall silent. There is no more rain and the air is
still as death. The starry sky above us steals what little warmth
remains.

“Bastien?” I shake him. “Bastien!”

He gasps in a deep breath. His body expands,
changes, grows. I’ve never seen magic like this. Where before his
transformations have been harsh and painful, the one I am
witnessing now is anything but. He changes smoothly, a thing not
physical; transcendent. I can feel Bastien fading away until all
that remains is the Beast. The weight of him is crushing but I dare
not move or breathe.

I count my heartbeats, waiting for him to
stir. One died. Would the other live? Would he want to? Bastien is
gone forever. There will be no more full moon nights; no respite to
humanity from his beastly form. Beast will never again be able to
walk among people. The curse is broken, but not the way either of
us wished it.

He rouses his brows drawing in a frown before
he opens his eyes and blinks up at me. “Lyssette?”

I swallow back my grief. He is alive. I
attempt a smile, though my sight blurs with tears. “H-how do you
feel?”

The great beast groans and raises his head
from my lap. He sits up and twists to kneel before me. He appears
to be fully healed – but of course he would. Beast is not the one
who was wounded. For the first time I can truly believe that they
are …
were
not one and the same.

“I…” he paws at his shoulder and chest. There
is no more wound to be found. I wait for his great sigh of relief
but instead his shoulders sink as his eyes fill with despair. “Oh,
Lyssette.”

“You’re alive,” I tell him. “The curse is
broken.”

“I never wanted this,” he murmurs, unable to
meet my gaze.

“You’re alive,” I tell him again, more
strongly. “Nothing else matters.”

Beast cups my cheek gently, his fur rasping
over my skin. “Of course it does,” he says. “The curse may have
split me into two but my heart was always one and the same.” His
great paw lowers. “We both loved you equally, though Bastien would
never have said so. He would have made you the husband I never can.
Of course that matters
.”

My throat aches. I want to scream to the
heavens, demand they right this wrong. I can’t bear to see my Beast
suffer anymore. He’s held out hope for so long, and even in his
moment of victory all happiness is stolen from him. He has nothing
now.

No, that is a lie. He has something – me. “I
swore to you I would never leave,” I tell him. “And I will stand by
my word. No matter what.”