Beauty and the Beast (8 page)

“What have you done to him?” Mother shouts, her fury overriding any pain she must feel from her fall.

The girl smiles sweetly and returns to petting her buffalo. The fact that she is petting a giant buffalo in the first place should have been a sign that something was not quite right. How did we all overlook such a thing?

“I have simply granted your requests,” she says, her shining eyes dimming, like the setting sun on a cloudy day. “Is he not exactly like you specified? Are you not pleased?”

“Pleased?”
Father roars. “He is a beast!”

Alexander, pale and shaken, steps forward. “Please, undo this horrible deed. We only joked of turning him into this … this creature.”

She shakes her head. “I cannot do that.”

“We will give you whatever you want,” Mother begs. “Riches beyond measure. Just turn our son back.”

She shakes her head. “There is one way only, and I would not count on it.”

“Anything.”

“A kiss,” the girl says. “If a girl falls in love with him by the first bloom of spring, he shall become the prince again. If she discovers his identity before she loves him, the deal shall be broken.”

“Look at him!” Alexander exclaims. “How is he supposed to find a girl to love him in only six months? Or ever?”

I clear my throat. The sound is much deeper than I expected, almost like a growl. “Is it truly that bad?”

Alexander nods. “Yes.”

Mother begins to sob.

I glance down at my arms, which feel itchy. Gone are the sleeves of my traveling shirt. In its place are tufts of fur, in a seemingly random pattern up and down my arms and on the backs of my hands. My first reaction is to scratch and pull at the fur to see if it will come off. This proves a bad idea due to the thick, sharp, eagle-like nails that now draw blood. Mother's sobs have turned to wails.

I am torn. A huge part of me is horrified. I, Prince Riley, second in line to the throne, lover of the stars, dedicated alchemist, devoted son and brother, am now a beast. Half man, half animal. Or
animals
, as the case may be.

On the other hand, I am also living proof that one can manipulate the forces of nature. One can, in fact, change something into something else. For a scientist such as myself, evidence like this comes but once in a lifetime, if ever at all. So there is a bright side, however dim it may be. Plus, the Harvest Ball is clearly off.

Father marches over to the girl, draws himself up to his full height (which, I cannot help noticing, is now only as high as my chest), and grabs her by the shoulders. “I demand you undo this right now. This is an order from your king!”

“What care I for your demands?” she asks, shaking him off with nothing more than a twitch of her shoulder. As I watch in amazement, her once bright green dress fades to a dull brown. In a voice empty of emotion, she adds, “He now has only five months.”

Wide-eyed, Father sputters, “But you cannot … this is simply unacceptable … you must …”

“Three months,” she says calmly. Her yellow hair turns first brown, then the color of rust.

“Three!” Mother gasps. “You skipped right over four!”

The girl shrugs.

Father can only stare, speechless now. Alexander walks over to him and guides him back to his horse. Then he turns back to the witch, for clearly that is what she is. Humbly, so as not to anger her further, Alexander asks, “How will we know if a girl loves him?”

She rolls her eyes as though it is a silly question. “She will give him a kiss, of course.”

“But how can we take our son back to the castle like this?” Mother shrieks. “What will people say when they see him? And if they see us with him, they will think we cannot even protect our own son, let alone an entire kingdom!”

“I cannot help what people will say or do when they see
him
,” she says calmly, “but the rest of you I can take care of.”

In a blink, the three of them are gone. Simply vanished!

I turn in circles (not easy with my new bulk and height) and call out for them. “Mother! Father! Alexander!”

“Riley?” Alexander replies. “Do you hurt? Are you in pain?”

I turn around again, but see no one. “Where … where are you?”

“Why would you ask that of me? I am right next to you.”

“But … I cannot see you. I cannot see any of you!”

“What are you talking about, brother? I can see myself perfectly well. And Mother and Father, too.”

I feel a tug on my hand and jump, nearly smacking my head on a low branch. I am not quite as tall as a giraffe, thankfully. Perhaps a baby one.

“It is only me,” Alexander says, taking my hand again. This time I do not pull away. He places something round and hard into my palm, which I close around it. My hands might be larger, and the skin thicker, but I recognize the feel of Alexander's gold ring with our family's crest upon it. He never takes it off.

“So we are invisible to everyone but ourselves?” Mother asks, fuming. “
That
is your solution to this problem?”

The girl shrugs. “You were concerned what others would think when they saw you with such a creature. Now they will not see you at all. I could turn you all into beasts if you would prefer.”

Only silence comes from Mother's direction now.

“Prince Riley, you have three months,” the girl says, beginning to walk along the stream. The buffalo follows, his head so low his horns nearly drag on the ground. “If you fail, which, of course, you will, your family shall remain invisible. When your time is nearly up, you shall be drawn to me, and I shall add you to my collection.”

The buffalo yelps and the girl smacks him with the back of her hand. The sudden realization hits me that the buffalo may not always have been a buffalo! My family must have come to the same conclusion, because no one utters a sound until they are both lost from view. Then my family surrounds me in a long, tight hug that I can feel, even if I cannot see it.

“We cannot go to the Harvest Ball like this,” Mother moans, sounding more defeated than I have ever heard her. “I cannot bear to think of all the worry when we do not show. And Riley was the ceremonial symbol of the harvest!”

“Riley was the
what
?” Alexander asks, loosening his grip in the family embrace.

“Never mind that,” I reply hurriedly.

Mother continues to wail. “And how will we get home? Riley would never fit atop a horse!”

“I have a theory,” Alexander says. “Perhaps we shall wake at any moment to find this all a dream!”

“Yes!” Father agrees. “Mayhap we are all back in the carriage, dreaming still! Let us lie down in this tall grass and close our eyes.”

It takes a moment to find a way to lie down where some part of my enormous body does not crush a leg or head of one of my family members in the process. When we have figured it out, Mother says fervently, “Good night, and may we all wake as good as new.”

“Or better,” Alexander declares.

I have scarcely finished telling Clarissa of recent events, when Veronica bursts through the apothecary door, just as she did an hour earlier. Only this time she is wearing a smile that shows her small white teeth. I should probably add teeth brushing to my list of grooming habits that I need to work on.

She runs up to me and grabs my hand. “I am so pleased you are coming!”

I glance questioningly at the apothecary, who shrugs and returns to grinding a pearl into fine powder. “I have not yet asked my father,” I reply, pulling my hand back. “So I cannot say for certain.”

“And as her older sister,” Clarissa says, “I am not certain I am comfortable with this arrangement.”

She turns toward Clarissa. “You are quite beautiful,” she says.

“Thank you for noticing,” Clarissa replies. My sister is never one for simply saying
thank you
.

“But there are things you do not understand in the world,” Veronica says, sounding older than her years. “Forces are at work.”

“Forces?” Clarissa repeats, sounding doubtful. “What kind of forces?”

Although no one else is in the store, Veronica looks left, then right, then leans close before replying. “You have read the old fairy tales? If you can read, of course.”

“I can read,” Clarissa snaps. “And yes, I know of the tales. But that is all they are, just stories.”

Veronica shakes her head. “That is what I used to think as well. But the stories are true. At least some of them.”

“Like the one about the girl who slept a hundred years?” I ask. “I do not see how that could be true.”

She nods. “But it is.”

I can tell by the way her eyes are darkening that Clarissa is getting annoyed. She may be a romantic when it comes to love, but she has little patience for make-believe. “Is that so?” she asks. “How about the one where the girl's hair grew so long you could climb up it? I have been growing my hair since I was six, and it does not even reach my waist.”

Veronica shakes her head sadly, like she cannot believe she has to deal with such a silly question. “When magic is at play, the impossible can happen.”

“Like witches and fairies?” Clarissa asks. “Goblins and ghosts and trolls?”

“All real.”

“Pish-posh,” Clarissa says, stomping off.

Veronica opens her mouth to reply but then straightens up and says, “I must go now and prepare. We shall leave three days hence. Let us gather in the courtyard of the monastery, where first we met.”

“If I go, which I still have not agreed to, what would I bring with me?”

“I shall bring you a list tomorrow,” she says.

“I should warn you, I have very few possessions.”

“Whatever you do not have shall be provided for you,” Veronica says. She leans close again, so close I can smell her flowery scent. I cannot help thinking of what the apothecary said about how he makes the perfumes. I wonder if Veronica knows that, and if she did, if she would still wear it.

“Be prepared, Beauty,” she says in a low voice. “For a quest changes a person.” And with that cryptic message, she slips out the door.

“And you say
I
am dramatic!” Clarissa exclaims.

I stand in the doorway and watch Veronica run down the street. Her legs move swiftly, almost as fast as mine. I suspect she was holding back when we first ran to check on her grandfather. Master Werlin would never have kept up. But I can keep up with her.

I understand now why her grandfather wanted me to accompany her. Someone who believes in fairy tales and mysterious forces might forget her own basic needs. He needs me to make sure she is fed, clothed properly, and given a safe place to sleep. I protect Veronica, and Handsome protects us both.

Master Werlin sets down his tools. “It does not surprise me that she wishes to believe in the old stories. Her own is a sad one.”

Clarissa looks up from the glass jar she is rinsing. She is never one to miss any gossip.

“Her father caught a terrible fever right after she was born,” Master Werlin says. “He only lasted another month. Then a few years later, her mother left on what was supposed to be a short trip. Her empty pack was later found in the woods, along with her shoes. Search parties were formed, but no sign of her has ever turned up. Everyone believes her dead, of course, either at the hands of bandits or wolves, but the girl holds out hope. Now we know why her mother left. At least Bartholomew's version of events.”

“Is that what the quest is, then?” I ask. “She wants to find her mother?”

He shrugs. “Likely so.”

Clarissa and I exchange a look. I am certain we are both thinking about the lengths we would go to if a chance existed that our own mother was still alive. I resolve to do my best to help the girl. Not that I believe her mother still lives, but perhaps I can help her accept her loss and move on. Living in the past is not living.

Clarissa appears beside me. She lays her hand gently on my arm. Her expression is both loving and serious. I turn toward her, anticipating some older-sister wisdom and encouragement. Instead, she says, “Please tell me you are bringing a comb on your journey. How do you expect Handsome to fall in love with you and break his engagement if you look like that? And would it kill you to powder your nose every once in a while? You shine brighter than the full moon on a clear night.”

I groan and put my head down on the counter. The apothecary laughs. “Oh, yes,” he says, “this is going to be fun.”