Bastien (8 page)

“You monster!” a woman screams at the Beast. She throws a rock at him. More follow, trying to chase him off. They throw anything they can get their hands on—his own people trying so hard to kill him without getting too close to his fangs.

A large rock strikes his head, drawing blood. A pitchfork embeds itself in his hide, just deep enough to stick. He barely moves in time to avoid a spear aimed directly at his heart. The Beast roars again, hoping to frighten them away but the assault continues, edging him farther from the castle and he can do nothing without harming them.

He’s about to run for the woods when one man shouts, “Wait!” It’s loud enough to make all of them stop. “Look!” He’s crouched next to the fallen servant. Before their very eyes, the dead man breathes a sigh and sits up, rubbing his chest. It’s miraculously whole and unharmed.

Not a sound comes from the stunned mob that just moments ago nearly drove the Beast into the woods for good. Not one of them sees or cares when he pulls the pitchfork out of his hide and retreats into the castle.

This is how the inhabitants of the Beast’s castle discover that one affected by the curse cannot break it. It means he can’t even kill himself to be free of it. Lilith said, “Find someone to love now, Beast, or stay this way forever.” Apparently, forever would be too short a time if one was allowed to die. The Faery princess gave the Beast and all his servants the one thing Louis coveted so much. Immortality.

Now, as evening turns to night, Jacques is the one who brings the Beast supper. The others, though resigned to their fate, refuse to come near him.

At least he doesn’t have to suffer the indignity of having them see his struggles to feed himself. It is difficult for the Beast to grasp utensils. He drinks his soup and eats meat and potatoes with his bare claws.

The two speak little while the Beast eats. Then Jacques says, “The others will come around.”

“You said that before. What will they bring next? Axes and bows? Hunting dogs?”

“They’re scared. Rightly so. Because of your… because of the Lord’s carelessness they are trapped in here, quite possibly forever.”

“As am I,” he growls irritably, but immediately ducks his head in shame. “I didn’t mean …”

Jacques waves the comment aside. “It’s obvious that only love will break the spell. And you can’t be seen outside, so the solution is perfectly clear. We must help you.”

The Beast laughs.

“If we want to be free—”

“What do you suggest? Will you be sending errand boys to Fauve to fetch me young maidens to terrify? There isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t run screaming at the sight of me.”

“You must have hope, Master.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“As I recall, you said not to call you Lord. You are not Bastien and I will not call you Beast, Master.”

The Beast scowls but can think of nothing to counter that. “Hope,” he says instead, thinking of the rose. There is something about it he’s forgetting. “Yes, just enough to torment me for the rest of ever.”

Jacques clears the empty tray. “If that is what you wish to believe, Master. In my humble opinion, a monster’s visage over a good heart is always better than a pretty face with no heart at all.” By the door, he pauses. “The Lord wondered once why the servants were so cold. It’s not because of the man he was. It’s because we knew the man he could be. I believe I see that man in you now. The others will too, soon enough.”

The Beast huffs.

“Then again,” Jacques add, “the moon is full tomorrow night. Perhaps we shall see another side of you all together.” Despite his good natured smile, his words send a chill up the Beast’s spine. He rushes to the windows to seek the moon. Sure enough, only a minuscule sliver of shadow obscures its round face.

The Beast doesn’t sleep a wink that night.

As soon as morning dawns, he goes in search of the servants. Many cower at the sight of him. He has to corner three of them and growl them into silence for them to listen to his demands.

“Bring me chains,” he says. “As thick as you can find, as many as you can spare or buy.”

“Master,” one of them says, “is something the matter?’

He doesn’t know, but a deep sense of foreboding makes him restless throughout the day.

Jacques watches him curiously as he paces the gardens in the snow. The Beast shakes himself off every once in a while, but the flakes stick to his fur too well. Five men lug chains into the castle, up the stairs to his chambers. There’s not enough time to secure them to the wall. He must hope that there are enough, heavy enough to restrain him, should he somehow lose control of himself.

Terrible visions of blood and bodies torn apart haunt him until supper time. He has no stomach for what’s on his plate and sends it back with his apologies. The servants are made even more nervous. They’re already locked in their rooms, no doubt barricaded in to be safe. If they could leave, they would.

Only Jacques seems unconcerned by any of this. He goes about his duties as if this is just another day and nothing is out of the ordinary. While the Beast watches the sun dip lower with every minute, Jacques hums a tune to himself as he arranges the horse combs on the new armoire.

When he cannot wait any longer, the Beast loops the chains around himself as best he can.

They are so tangled and convoluted he will need help getting out of them come morning, but hopefully they will keep him restrained in the night. Once he’s sufficiently weighed down and can’t move, he asks Jacques to add more.

With a shake of his head, the man obeys, and then sits in an armchair, tapping his foot in a merry rhythm as the sun sets.

For a few moments, the sky retains some of its luminescence. Then even that is gone.

Jacques smiles. He opens his mouth to say something when a horrible wail splits the air.

The Beast roars, his body crushing in on itself, tearing apart and growing back together, smaller, so small he can’t breathe. His head feels as though it’s exploding. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear himself screaming for help. He can see flashes of Jacques staring at him in horror.
Run!
he wants to tell the man but can’t form the word. Death, that eyeless skull draped in a black, hooded cape, wraps its hands around the Beast’s throat. He is dying.

Then everything stops.

Incessant ringing echoes all around in the absolute darkness. One eye opens, then the other.

The chains are crushing, but they are loose, easy to slip out of. A hand free, then the other. Every muscle aches and twitches, but works.

Wait... hand?

Yes. And one more. And a chest, arms, legs. A face! Laughter rings out loud and clear, so sweet because it is human. “I’m back!”

Chapter Fifteen

“My... my Lord?”

I laugh at the look on Jacques’ face. “So much for the Faery curse, eh?” My joyous bellow echoes in the chamber. I feel so alive my lungs are bursting. I strip out of the clothes too big for me and search for my old things while my butler stares. “What happened to my goddamn wardrobe?” All I find is a worn pair of brown breeches and a torn peasant shirt. I can’t think of why I would even own things like this unless it was for some lurid masquerade, but they will have to do. I don’t require the height of fashion, just something that will keep me decently covered until I take it off again.

Why is Jacques so quiet?

“Have you gone deaf? I asked you a question.”

The man pales.

“Speak!”

Jacques pulls back his shoulders and puts on his most stern face. “I believe your clothes were destroyed…
my Lord
.”

“Have them fixed. Better yet, I want new everything.” Luckily it seems my boots survived whatever tantrum took place here. I shove my feet into them, impatient to be out of here.

“Are you going out, my Lord?”

I pause at the door. Why is he saying my name that way? “Is that any of your business?” I am alive, I am free, and I am about to overindulge in every vice known to man.

Jacques stands even straighter. “No, my Lord.”

I take three steps back to him and lift him by his lapels. “Then the next time you feel the urge to ask,” I say, nose to nose with him, “don’t.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Jacques says stiffly. There is that tone again.

I release him with a shove and run down the stairs, straight to the stables. I mount my horse bareback and ride out hard in Louis’ direction. The night is rife for sin of the sweetest kind and there is no one I would rather drag into it with me than Louis Lafarge.

I almost break down his door in my haste. He almost knocks over his dinner table at the sight of me. I laugh at the look on his face. “What are you doing dining here alone?” I ask.

“Bastien? How...?”

I grasp his shoulders and shake him. “The night is young, and I am hungry. So stop dawdling and let’s go!”

He fires questions at me which I have no intention of answering. I don’t care. I don’t care what happened to the Beast, or how I came to be myself again. I don’t care what the mopey bastard did since Lilith’s curse. I only care that I am free and the cold is biting. I ride straight to the brothel and spill a pouch of coin into the purveyor’s lap.

A patron objects when I pluck his entertainer from his lap, but I silence him with a quick clip on the jaw. “You,” I drawl to the woman with a lusty grin. I look around the chamber, heartily amused at the shocked expressions on each and every face, and point out my selection.

“You, and you. Oh, most definitely you.” Free or not, all of the women stop what they’re doing and come to me. It must be the bulge of my pants luring them. Within moments Louis and I are surrounded by drink and women eager to warm us from the cold.

I drink deep and fuck hard until my body is heavy with pleasurable exhaustion. Multiple sets of hands roam over me. Tongues lave at me, mouths suck on me, and I laugh at the absolute rightness of it all. I am back, and more alive than ever.

Faces hover before me, one more beautiful than the next. I fuck them all, take my pleasure with each of them. I have energy to spare and happily spend it here along with my coin. When one begins to bore me, I take another. Two, three at a time. Laughter and moans are the music of the night, the perfect rhythm to move to. They sigh my name, pour wine into my mouth, onto my cock.

This is beauty—perfect because it is flawed. Cheeks too bright, lips too red, but flesh so hot it burns me and I adore it. The next one who mounts me is stunningly garish in a bright red wig and her clothes dark and stained. I rip them off her and bury my face between her ample breasts as she slams down on me with a slap of flesh against flesh. I lick, she moans. I nip, she screams and clutches my hair. She pulls my head back to kiss me and I frown.

Her skin is suddenly pure as milk, her lips pink and lush. Her eyes, before so dark, now flash blue fire, and her hair is a shade I know all too well.

I shove her off me and snarl. My heart beats too hard, and I shake my head and clutch my temples, blinking past the drunken stupor. The woman is on the floor, scrambling to her feet.

“Get out,” I snarl.

Garish red hair, painted lips, flushed, freckled skin. Strength is gone again. The whore runs out of the room, weeping. I look at the other, startled female faces. Not one of them resembled the phantom before. Now they all look exactly like her, all staring at me with contempt.

I blink and the illusion is gone, and I am back in the whore house, surrounded by naked flesh.

A burly man with a club in hand stomps in on my celebration. “I knew you’d be trouble,” he says, knuckles turning white as his face reddens. In an instant my women are flattened against the walls. I roll my eyes and get out of bed. “You’ll regret this,” I tell him. “Last chance to—”

He charges with a shout.

I have no other recourse but to fight back. I’m furious that this pile of warthog shit dared to intrude on my revelry, but the fight lights my blood on fire. I break his arm to get the club and then beat him with it until he’s a whimpering puddle of piss and misery on the floor. When I grow tired of it I drag the pathetic imbecile out and return to my harem, feeling like a knight who just slew the dragon. I grin hungrily and lick my teeth. “Who’s next?”

Half of them run out. The other half compose themselves as best they can and edge closer.

Coin is ever the draw, but for their courage I am prepared to pay them a premium not only in gold but in pleasure. The hunger in their eyes may not be for me, but it’s enough to keep them here. I’m not particular enough to care why they don’t run, only that they stay and do what I pay them to.

When I recline on the bed again, a lushly rounded blond crawls over me, nearly smothers me in her cleavage. I make a note to reward her for it while I reach for the brunette with my right hand and the exotic Gypsy girl with my left. Both of them arch to my fingers and I am a god once again.

By the time the night is through I can scarcely move. Four women are asleep, draped over me and each other. My sigh feels like a benediction to depravity.
Dear God,
I think,
Forgive me
for all the sins of the past, and those I have yet to commit in the future. Because you know I will.

The jealous bastard probably won’t forgive, though. I’ve already resigned myself to the burden I must carry—the bitter envy of every angel in the sky.

It’s a satisfying notion. A sign of a life well and truly spent. I close my eyes as the sky begins to lighten, a content smile pulling on my mouth. Just an hour or two, I tell myself. And then I can do it all over again.

It’s the pain exploding in my chest that wakes me. I am lifted off the bed as my body breaks and shatters. “Noooo!” I roar, fighting my own demise with everything in me. Demons claw into me from the inside, tearing my soul directly out of my flesh. Fire starts to burn me alive, not the everlasting flames of hell, but the sizzling crack of the Faery’s lightning.

I hear women scream all around me, I see them running for the door. I smell blood, taste it in my mouth. I go blind and deaf, and then even the agony of unbecoming is gone and I am, once again, to be no more.