The Curse Girl (2 page)

“You shouldn’t be here. This room is off limits.”

I didn’t know what to say. My shoulders shook. My hands grew slick. I held the candle tighter so I wouldn’t drop it and be plunged into complete blindness.

“Who are you?” But I knew. I knew exactly who was snarling at me, smothered in blackness.

The Beast himself.

He moved forward so swiftly I didn’t see his face. He put his hand over the candle. The light went out in a puff of smoke. I stumbled back against the mirror and he braced his hands on either side of my head.

“I’m the Beast,” he growled. He was mocking me. “I’m sure you’ve heard terrible things about me. And now you’re in my part of the house. Get out.”

“Please,” I said. Thoughts ran through my head—my stepsisters, my best friend Violet, Drew—I was thinking,
please please please don’t kill me. I love them. I need to live.

I realized I had whispered the words aloud.

His breath brushed my lips. “What have you been told? That I’ll lock you in a dungeon? That I’ll eat you? Are you scared?”

Yes, yes, and yes. But I shook my head, my hair brushing his hands. “You promised my father you wouldn’t hurt me. He felt the magic in your words! You gave him a sacred promise. You can’t hurt me.” My voice dropped to a whisper at the end, and it shook despite what I’d just said.

I was still terrified.

He drew away. “You don’t understand. I’m not a monster. Now go back to your room and wait to be called.”

And he was gone. His words were still ringing in my head.

I’m not a monster.

THREE

I was left trembling alone in the dark. The brush with the Beast had reduced my legs to jelly, and my fingers to spaghetti noodles. I stumbled for the door, and this time when I opened it light poured over me. I stumbled into a hallway lit by blazing chandeliers. I didn’t understand—hadn’t this room been a dark ballroom? I’d passed through it only moments earlier. But I didn’t have time to think.

A woman was standing to my left, as if she’d been waiting for me all along. She flinched at my startled gasp. But I couldn’t help myself.

Her white dress hung in tatters and her hair was coiled on her head in a thick, outdated bun. But it was her skin that made me gasp. Roses and scrolls against blue background covered her face, her arms, her hands. She matched the wallpaper behind her, as if she’d stepped through the plaster.

My head spun the way it had when I’d ridden my first roller coaster at age twelve as I looked at her. I put out a hand to brace myself against the door.

“Welcome,” she said, twisting her hands together and dropping a short curtsey. “You are the Curse Girl? Aren’t you pretty! Please come with me. I’m going to take you to your room.”

“I’m Beauty Hendricks,” I managed, uncertain about the term
Curse Girl
. This was the second time someone had called me that. I didn’t know what they meant by it.

“Yes, Beauty. We’ve been expecting you,” she said, and there was something about the way she pronounced the word
we
that made a shiver run down my back. “I am Housekeeper.”

I didn’t have time to think about the odd way she said that, like her name was Housekeeper, because she started walking, and I had no choice but to follow or be left alone in the hall. And at the moment, I wanted to be with anyone but that beast in the darkness.

Maybe she would take me to a room with a window.

I followed her.

Housekeeper went to the first door in the long hallway behind us and turned the brass knob.

“Come,” she said, giving me a wane, but warm, smile. “Don’t mind the house.”

We stepped through the doorway and into another hallway, this one carpeted with a blood-red runner and lined with statues. They grimaced at me with contorted expressions—gleeful scowls and ruinous smiles.

“Ah, the Hall of Regret,” Housekeeper said, her forehead wrinkling. She looked as if she’d anticipated something else. “Well, then. This way, please.”

I was still shaking. I could still feel his breath grazing my lips, his hands so close on either side of my face. Or had they been claws?

“You look so frightened, dear. Don’t be alarmed. This old house has a few tricks in it, but it isn’t malicious. And the Master …” Housekeeper trailed off as she opened the door at the end of the hall and peered inside. “This is the conservatory,” she said, more to herself than to me, and she sounded irritated.

We stepped inside. Fading sunlight poured through the glass walls and glinted on broken glass and rusted lawn furniture. Dead plants covered the broken tile floor and sagged against the walls. A shard of glass crunched beneath my shoe.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw the outdoors, just beyond my reach. I quickly took stock of the room. I’d need to be able to find it again.

We kept walking through endless rooms, which I did my best to memorize so I could remember how to get back to the conservatory, which so far looked like my best bet for escape. Housekeeper took me through almost half a dozen more interior rooms—studies, parlors, a giant library with a painted ceiling, even a dank underground cellar she called the Labyrinth. My head began to ache. Everything felt like a dream.

Finally, we reached a room papered with violet wallpaper. A massive curtained bed stood in the center, like a stage. A sad little chair huddled in one corner, and dusty lace curtains dangled at a single window. Housekeeper made a happy sound in her throat and ushered me inside.

“Here we are. This is your room, and I hope you like it. Dinner is in the Blue Room, and you’ll have lunch in the kitchen tomorrow. Butler will come get you in an hour.”

My heart leaped at the sight of the window. Other than the conservatory, it was the first one I’d seen yet. Adrenaline made my stomach curl and my fingers tingle. Maybe if I slammed something into it, hard . . . would they hear the glass shatter and come running?

Housekeeper was waiting for a response. I mumbled some reply, which seemed to satisfy her. After fluffing the pillows and dusting the edge of the bureau with a handkerchief, she left.

As soon as the door clicked shut I went straight to the window, but it was the solid kind that didn’t open. I hadn’t really expected it to just open, though. I ran my tongue over my teeth, thinking. Plan B, then. I needed to be quick in case they came running to stop me.

Grabbing the chair from the corner, I slammed the legs against the glass as hard as I could. The window didn’t even make a sound. The glass didn’t shatter, crack, or even shudder.

What?

I tried again. The glass held firm. I drew back, panting, and then swung a third time. The chair leg splintered, and I dropped the piece of furniture on the floor and slammed my hands against the glass. It only looked a few centimeters thick! It couldn’t be that strong!

A sob caught in my throat. My eyes ached with fresh, unshed tears.

Why couldn’t I get
out?
Magic?

Through the window, the sunlight was fading into the west. Dark shadows stretched across the lawn and hugged the tree branches. My father’s truck was gone, and only the tire tracks in the dirt road gave evidence that he’d ever been there at all. I imagined him getting home, throwing open the front door and hugging my stepmother, my stepsisters. Showing them how the mark on his wrist had disappeared, how they were all free now.

I went back to the door. The knob turned under my hand, and I stepped back, astonished, when I saw the Hall of Regret with its horrible statues on the other side. That wasn’t right. That hall was back by the room with the hourglass.

First the ballroom turned into a hallway, and now this. What was going on?

My heart began to pound again, and my stomach twisted with panic. I closed the door and leaned against it. The cool press of wood against my forehead calmed me. I could do this.

Be strong, Beauty. Be brave.

I counted my breaths until I was able to think past my panic. Then I straightened and opened the door again.

This time the room beyond was black as a nightmare. My hand slipped from the knob as I wavered.

I needed to get out of here. I needed to find a way out.

But I couldn’t go back into that blackness alone.

Defeated, I shut the door and leaned against it.

I really wanted to cry.

FOUR

The servant Housekeeper had called Butler came to escort me to dinner. I jumped up when he knocked, my heart hammering. This was it. Dinner time.

It felt like my execution.

I opened the door. The servant was gray all over like a statue, and his skin was marbled with blue-gray veins. This time, I was able to stifle my gasp of shock at the strangeness.

Butler bowed stiffly, sweeping one hand ahead of him to indicate that I should come. His gaze flicked over me, and I wondered if they’d expected me to wear something other than the shorts and t-shirt I’d come in.

Tough luck. I wasn’t changing.

He was waiting. Wiping my sweating hands on my shirt, I dragged in a deep breath and stepped into the hall. I could do this.

I would face the beast and demand to be set free. Demand to know what was going on. Demand that he explain himself.

If I could get any words out at all, that is.

Fear lay like a coiled snake in my belly.

Butler led me through a confusing string of rooms. A library, three parlors, a hall. Everything was old, heirlooms from another generation. Grandfather clocks and oil paintings. Chandeliers, strewn with cobwebs. Faded wallpaper, curling at the seams. Our footsteps echoed. I could hear my heartbeat in the silence.

Finally Butler stopped and indicated that I was to pass through first.

I stepped into a vast hall. A table long enough to seat fifty people filled the room, but every seat was empty, and its presence only made the hall feel lonelier somehow. Shadows crisscrossed on the table. And the room smelled like pressed flowers and dust. My heart thumped hard in my chest, and my palms sweated.

I was alone.

“Please be seated,” Butler said, and his voice startled me with its nearness. “The Master will be here soon.”

I just shook my head. I couldn’t sit. What if I needed to run?

Butler pressed his stone lips together, displeased, but he didn’t argue with me. He bowed again and left.

Cold air slipped over my shoulders and down my back. Wishing for a sweater, I picked up my napkin. My nervous fingers folded it into an origami flower, an old habit from my childhood.

It was late now—I wondered what Drew was doing. Probably homework. Or playing video games with a friend. I pictured his face, fierce with focus as he worked the game controller, the light from the screen flickering over his features. Was he thinking of me? He didn’t know, of course, where I was. None of them did. It had all happened so fast.

I figured my father would tell them I went to live with my mother’s family in the city. That was what people always said when their loved ones disappeared. They went to the city.

The door at the end of the room opened. My fingers stilled against the napkin.

He stopped just inside the room and looked at me. He stood with one hand resting against the doorframe. I inhaled sharply.

He was nothing like what I’d expected.

For one thing, he wasn’t very tall. No scales or fur, either, or sharp jagged teeth to eat me with. He was just a guy. Black, thick hair fell into his eyes, which were a shocking blue. He might have been handsome once, but a long white scar split his eyebrow and ran across his left cheek, marring his otherwise pristine appearance. His lips were thin and pressed together tightly, as if in disgust. I immediately got the impression of rich, spoiled, would-barely-glance-at-me type.

And he was
young
. He couldn’t be much older than me, which didn’t make sense. The legend was from a time before my grandmother. I didn’t understand.

We gazed at each other. Silence hummed in my ears and made my tongue feel heavy. Was he supposed to say something? Laugh like an evil villain, deep and throaty? Steeple his fingers and cackle? Tell me what he was going to do with me while chuckling suggestively?

Apparently, villains in my imagination do a lot of laughing.

He raked his gaze over me once. I felt like a package that had come in the mail, one in which the contents had turned out to be a slight disappointment.

“So you’re the Curse Girl,” he said finally, after a long pause. “The words of the curse spoke about a girl called Beauty, but I thought the line meant a beautiful girl.”

I was trying to formulate a reply when the door opened and a girl entered. She was tiny, with soft blonde hair and exquisite green eyes.

“The Curse Girl!” She gasped. “Oh, she’s adorable.”

I thought this was kind of an odd word to describe me, since she looked younger than me. Maybe it was the whole rich thing. They thought they owned everything. I was just like a doll, or another piece of furniture. A pet.

“My name is Bee.” It was a stupid thing to say, and I immediately regretted it. I’d wanted to sound strong, confident, and totally disinterested about the whole being-trapped-in-his-house forever. Instead I sounded like a little girl on her first day of kindergarten.
My name is Bee, and I like coloring and horsies.

The dark-haired boy crossed his arms and smirked, like he could read my thoughts. The blonde girl glared at him. “Don’t be such a cad, Will. Introduce us.”

Will didn’t say anything. The girl shrugged and looked at me with a warm, if slightly hesitant, smile. “I’m Rose, and this is my brother Will. It’s really very nice to meet you.”

None of the legends attached to the house had ever mentioned a sister. I didn’t know what to say. Nice to meet you too? That was a lie. Curtsy? Um, no.

I settled for a nod, which seemed acceptable given the circumstances. Rose beamed, pleased. Will scratched his chin and looked at the door. An uncomfortable silence descended.

“Shall we sit?” Rose asked finally, gesturing at the table while shooting her brother a furious look.