As Old As Time: A Twisted Tale (Twisted Tale, A) (26 page)

She threw back the covers quickly, hoping against hope that the warm spot her body made would still be there after she returned with more wood. Her feet didn’t slap against a floor like ice as they would have at home; there was a thick rug to protect them here. She thought with longing about what warm clothes might be in the wardrobe, but opening the thing up while it was sleeping seemed wrong. An invasion of privacy—or worse.

So she crossed her arms against the frigid air and slipped her shoes over bare feet, preparing to make the long trip down to the kitchen and storerooms.

But when she threw open the door a statue was standing there.

For some reason, Belle didn’t scream. She
did
jump back. It was too early in the morning, her head was too sticky and murky with sleep, and it was too cold for her to think about much else except for how cold she was.

This time the leaves were slightly more “arranged” to copy human features…or possibly
in
human ones. Belle was reminded of the haunting Green Man images she had seen in books about ancient British churches: broad leaves flanking the face like a mane, smaller ones making a flat nose and unseeing eyes. The ivy near its “feet” was covered with delicate white tracery of frost.
Like the other one—it had come from outside.

“What the…? What on earth is
that
?”

Any thought Belle had that she was dreaming was immediately banished by the banal, confused words of the wardrobe.

Belle spun around and put a finger to her lips. Now was not the time to interrupt.

“Were you sent by my mother…?” she began as she turned back.

But the statue had changed in that moment: an arm was now raised, and a finger pointed to something behind Belle.

She turned to look. There was nothing really there.

“The window…?” she started to ask, turning back.

But the statue was gone.

“That,” the wardrobe said, “was spooky.”

Belle ignored her, too wrapped up in what was going on to care about being rude, and went over to the window.

Thin strands of pale webbing had somehow reached it, crossing lightly back and forth in front of the pane. In dismay Belle pressed her face against the glass and tried to see how much more of the castle had been covered.

A surprising amount. Thick ropes had breached the top of the perimeter walls and thin, sickly-looking runners were shooting out from them, spreading out over the open ground, as if looking for the next vertical edifice to attack.

Belle shuddered and had to fight down a surge of panic. Eventually the webs would blanket the entire castle, enshrouding it and everyone within.

Then she noticed that the view of the grounds seemed strangely foggier than the weather should have allowed. It took her a moment to realize that there was a thin film of ice caught between two of the white strands. It was rippled and crazed, and what it showed was not a blurry version of the landscape beyond, but something else entirely:

Her house, at night. A dark rider approaching it—no,
two
riders, on the same horse. Galloping at breakneck speed, pulling up at the very last minute with a silent buck and protest from the horse.

Belle drew back, terrified by this strange vision. Nothing about the situation seemed right.

The lead rider jumped down, then turned to help the second rider off. This was a tall, graceful boy who flowed off the horse like water—Belle could see this in the splash of yellow light from the now-open doorway.

“No! Don’t go out!” Belle couldn’t stop herself from whispering. But her mother was in the doorway now, speaking to the rider, appearing nervous. Then Maurice was coming forward, clasping the first rider’s hand…

And then the vision restarted.

“No,” Belle said, frustrated. “What
is
this? What is happening? Is he a relative? Is
one
of them a relative? Is that an uncle? What is happening? Why are you showing me this? Is he the one who betrayed you? Did you move out here to get away from all of the death and violence, and he tracked you down?”

“No idea, dear,” the wardrobe said with a yawn. “But if you figure it out, let me know. I’m going to get a few more winks of sleep…good luck….”

Belle stayed and watched the vision, again and again and again, for hours, all thoughts of going to get the logs forgotten. Eventually, when the inside of her mouth tasted like death and she couldn’t feel her legs, she went back into bed, curled up like a mouse.

When Belle woke up the second time, the sun was high and sparkling yellow.

“Morning, Miss,” the wardrobe said brightly. “You figure out what that statue was?”

“Um, no,” Belle said. She struggled for words. “I feel like…I feel like this
entire
castle is full of…my mother. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead but it’s like everything here has been…
filled
with her, somehow. Her memories. Her…
soul
, almost. She’s definitely trying to tell me something.”

“I wish she’d find a less creepy way of doing it. Your old dress is washed, pressed, and ready to go,” the wardrobe said, throwing her doors open brightly. Indeed it was. So clean and crisp it was almost new. The apron was spotless and her shirt’s sleeves puffy and shining white.

Next to it was a glittering yellow ball gown and a heavy pink dress with bell sleeves so long they might have almost been tippets, with a matching fur-trimmed stole.

“Snowed last night,” the wardrobe said innocently. “Thought maybe if you wanted to go skating, or…”

“
Skating?
I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but we’re
trapped
on the grounds of this castle now. No way out. I don’t think we’re getting to the river any time soon.”

“Oh, there’s a tiny viewing pond in the larger bailey, past the stables. I’ll bet it’s nice and solid by now.”

Huh.
That was interesting. So if she got a little too stir-crazy in the next few months, at least there were courtyards. “Thank you,” Belle said, reaching for her old dress. “Maybe later.”

Between her mother, the curse, the disappearance of
les charmantes
—and her apology to the Beast—there was too much to do to spend time skating.

She hurried downstairs so quickly she almost didn’t register the pale glowing toadstools that had begun to pop up in clusters on the steps. When a particularly bright and ghastly group of them finally caught her attention, she stopped to take a closer look.

It seemed like they were springing directly out of the gray streaks in the marble. The mottling on their stalks and umbrella tops looked like faces pressed up against cloth, screaming or trying to say something, shrouded before they were fully dead.

Belle felt her stomach turn. Some of the markings were
moving
, just a little, further making them look undead.

Part of her couldn’t help thinking:
Wait, my mother worked with plants. Ivy and roses. Mushrooms aren’t
technically
plants,
right?
Not like ones with leaves?

“I need to eat something,” she said aloud. That would make
everything
better, including her stomach. A chat with Mrs. Potts, some bacon, and a bright friendly stove would banish any lingering gloom.

But when she got there, the kitchen was as cold as her room had been the night before. The fire on the stove was so low it was almost out. Everything was still and silent. The waitstaff couldn’t still be asleep, could they? Had they indulged in whatever magicked drams animated objects could after she had left last night? Were they now all passed out?

“Good morning!” Belle called cheerily.

Nothing.

Confused, she looked around the room. There, in the cabinet, was the unmistakable Mrs. Potts. She was the only large white teapot with a pink-and-purple lid. Her porcelain was shiny and utterly unmoving.

Stacked next to her were all the little teacups, all but Chip, who was next to her. Like someone had placed him safely next to his mother.

“Mrs. Potts?” Belle called softly. She rapped on the glass with a gentle knuckle. “Hello?”

No response.

Belle backed away into the middle of the kitchen. She spun slowly, looking all around her. It was a normal, quiet kitchen, waiting for a human to come in and breathe life into it.

Belle ran a hand through her hair, panicking. Was she still asleep?

Was she finally awake?

Was she just some poor mad girl lost in a deserted castle, imagining teapots who talked and candelabra who flirted? If she ran back upstairs to “talk” to the wardrobe, what would she be confronted with? Wood and dust?

The softest sigh came from the cabinet.

Belle almost sobbed in relief when Mrs. Potts shook herself slowly, throwing off the last remnants of paralysis.

I’m not mad.
That’s
something.

It was strange to think of a kitchen literally brightening—but that is what it did. The oven glowed more orange, all of the chairs straightened to full attention, and sconces around the edges of the room lit themselves.

Mrs. Potts spied Belle and hopped down from the cabinet anxiously.

“Oooh my word, I’ve not overslept a day in all my years here!” she cried. “Get the kettle on! Lord, it’s cold! My dear, I am so sorry! We’ll get you something fresh and hot in a moment!” She descended to the table and spun around, directing Chip and the creamer and a small plate of muffins and a silver dome to arrange themselves on a tray. “A beautiful day it is—I’ll bet the sun melts all the snow before noon. But we’ll just pour you some hot chocolate to take the morning chill off!”

“Thank you. I
love
hot chocolate. I almost never get it.”

“I love chocolate, too!” Chip chimed in. “I can feel it in my cup,” he added confidentially.

He was so cute and…chipper. But Belle couldn’t help thinking, with a shudder, how there was a real little boy under the porcelain.

“How old were you when…all this happened?”

“Five!”
Chip said proudly. He puffed himself out.

A little brass pot hopped itself off the stove and carefully onto the table. The cup stood very still, trying to be a serious big boy at his task while creamy, peppery hot chocolate was poured into him.

“Nicely done,” Belle said, picking him up. She took a tiny sip and he giggled. Then she grabbed a couple of muffins. “I hate to eat and run but I want to get back to the library and do some more research. I don’t suppose you know the name of the Enchantress who laid the curse on you…My, er, mother?”

Mrs. Potts shook her spout mournfully. “What a terrible thing, not to know the name of your own mother! But I’m afraid
I
don’t, either. I’ll tell you, though, I’m fairly certain Mr. Potts did. He said some things…dropped some hints…But by that time, it wasn’t safe to have friends who were
charmantes
, certainly not if you lived at the castle. She was known to other folks here, though…you could try asking them. She came to see the king and queen three times, altogether. Magic always comes in threes.”

“What?” Belle leaned forward. “Why? Why did she come so often?”

“Well, the last time it was to curse us all,” the teapot said with a dry laugh. “The time before that it was because the king and queen had summoned her, to beg her to help with the plague.”

“Did she?” Belle asked breathlessly.

“No,” Mrs. Potts said with a sigh. “I’m not even sure if she could. Anyway, she told them no and stormed out, the way Lumière tells it.”

Belle felt like she had been hit in the stomach. After accusing the
Beast’s
parents of being heartless…Her own mother refused to heal the sick.

“Why did she visit the first time?”

“It was to bless the baby…the Prince, the Beast. On his birthday. Like they used to do in the old days. Ooh, I wish I’d seen that!”

“How…confusing,” Belle said, trying to wrap her head around the idea of her mother blessing a prince she would eventually curse.

“Well, the king and queen didn’t let her. They said it was
archaic
or some such. But it was more like
thickheaded,
if you ask me,” the teapot said with a wet snort. “You can be all modern
this
and anti-magic
that
but if an enchantress offers you a free blessing on your child, you’re a damn fool not to take it! That’s what I think, anyway.”

Didn’t let her…

Belle felt something like a headache start to come on. A few days ago, she’d had no mother. Now she had a very complicated one. It was like finding out the country you live in is actually on the moon, and beholden to an entirely different set of laws and procedures.

No
…Belle corrected herself. It was more than that. The mother that Belle
imagined
she had wasn’t a tenth of the mother she actually turned out to be.

How could Belle, a lonely little bookworm of a country girl, ever have come from someone so great that she meted out curses and blessings like candy and then took over an entire castle with her presence?

It didn’t seem possible. It
almost
seemed like a mistake.

Well,
she told herself bravely,
I may not have her
magic
power, but if I am indeed half of my mother, then I have her willpower and cunning, too. I am more up to this than any other creature in this world.

…
Right?

“Thank you,” she said aloud to Mrs. Potts before leaving.

As Belle went up the stairs to the dining room, she took a bite out of a muffin. It was still warm and moist inside, practically dissolving on her tongue. There was a delicate aftertaste of lemon and vanilla. She quickly finished the rest of it and ate the next one immediately, telling herself it was to get it all gone before entering the snack-free library.

Chip giggled as she sipped from him and tried not to wiggle too much. The hot chocolate was
very
hot.

Belle threw open the library doors dramatically so she could pretend it was the first time again. There were so many
other
books she could read on this cozy winter day. Almost too many. She narrowed her eyes and looked at it the way her father would: with a view to improvements. Rather than ladders here and there, he would have a wheeled cart probably, with some sort of chute or pulley system to allow the lifting up and bringing down of books as gently as possible—and a greater number than one person could normally carry. Or maybe a lens on wheels on a rail above the books, so you could look from the comfort of the floor quickly to see if a folio you needed was up there…