Beauty and the Werewolf Read online

  “These things might suit my stepsisters, maybe, but they are not for me. I can’t really do anything in this gown except sit and read, or sit and embroider. I like gowns that let me—well—do things. Nice, plain ones. And I don’t like fussy colors, like pink, or pale blue, or white. They don’t suit me, and I’m not suited to a gown like this. I’m sure I look like a donkey in a bonnet in it.” She took out another gown and laid it on the bed. Sapphire immediately tried to put it back.

  “Sapphire, look at this dress!” she exclaimed. “Tight sleeves—you can’t reach for things, or lift things without popping the seam open. And look here. Lace and ruffles that get caught on everything and tear.” She shook her head. “That just isn’t me. I want clothing that lets me feel like myself, not like a stranger. Even if I don’t actually look ridiculous, I feel ridiculous.” Sapphire stopped. “We R sposed to mak U hapi.”

  “Well, these gowns don’t make me happy. They make me feel as if I was being smothered in whipped cream,” she said decisively, and added as if the question was of no real consequence, “Who told you to make me happy?”

  “Duk,” Sapphire replied immediately.

  Well…that was kind of him…. “Sebastian might have told you to make me happy, but I know he didn’t order these gowns, so that must have been the King’s doing. Sebastian would probably have figured I could use whatever clothing there might still be in storage here.” Assuming he thought about it at all. And she had brought with her a perfectly good wardrobe. “Hmph.”

  The King had in turn probably just ordered that clothing be sent with her. Whatever underling he had that he trusted with this had found out her approximate size and made a raid on seamstresses. That made sense; the gown she had on now was only an approximate fit. She hadn’t thought about it at the time, but when Sapphire had been putting her into it, she had been adjusting it via tapes and ties and lacings. Ready-made gowns were often put together that way, and if the buyer had the extra money, they would be tailored to fit. “The King’s steward would have taken care of this, and he probably doesn’t have any better sense about gowns than Sebastian, but he sees a lot of them at Court. He must think that every female has to look like a wedding cake exploded all over her or she will not be content.”

  The slate and chalk began jiggling; the ribbon was shaking. For a moment, Bella thought that the poor invisible was frightened, but then she realized that Sapphire was laughing. She smiled. It felt very good to smile.

  “Have we got anyone here that can do something about these bonbons?” she asked. “If you’ll have them altered, I’ll wear them, but not as they are now. I can sew a little, but not enough to make these things sensible. I’ll put up with the colors, but if I see one more ruffle, I might turn into a pillar of sugar.”

  “Yes,” Sapphire replied. “Sho me wut u want.”

  “First, get me out of this thing,” she demanded, and Sapphire hastened to do so. Once the offending gown had been discarded onto the bed with the others, and Bella was back to wearing something she could actually don and remove without help, she showed Sapphire exactly what she didn’t like about the new wardrobe, and how her old clothing was better.

  “Did Sebastian summon an entire ducal household when he started bringing you here? Because that would include several seamstresses.”

  “Just called servants.” Well, that matched what Sebastian himself had told her, that he had just summoned the creatures without being specific about their talents.

  “I rather like lace, but not in places where it is bound to trail on the floor and get filthy, or get caught on things. Why are there more of you than Sebastian remembers summoning?” she asked, at the same time pointing out the long lace ruffles on a petticoat and a sleeve cuff. She had the feeling that she was not succeeding in being subtle, but Sapphire didn’t seem to notice.

  “He neded us. We came” was the reply.

  “I don’t see any reason why this can’t be made to fasten up the front with buttons instead of lacing up the back,” she said, laying one of her own bodices beside the one with the back-lacing. “You see what I mean, here. This is how I like my bodices to fasten. How did you know Sebastian needed you?”

  “We wached him.” The new bodice levitated into the air and was turned around and around in Sapphire’s invisible hands.

  “And this overskirt. Two ruffles are fine, elegant even. But no one my age looks anything but ridiculous in a gown with a dozen ruffles to it. Why were you watching Sebastian?” Sapphire didn’t answer that one, so Bella acted as if the answer didn’t matter, and continued on. “And this…this is just horrid. I don’t know if it can be picked to bits and the pieces reused, but the only thing that anyone could do in this overdone monstrosity is to sit and look ornamental. How did you all get here, if you weren’t summoned?”

  “Wer alredy here.” Abruptly, Sapphire left the room. Before Bella could wonder if she had pushed the invisible too far, Sapphire returned with several more ribbons trailing behind herp: white, pink, pale blue, mint-green and lilac. Within moments, the discarded gowns and petticoats were sailing out the door, presumably to be altered. But since Sapphire went with them, that was an end to Bella’s questioning for now.

  It certainly gave her something to think about. So, the extra invisibles were somehow “already here,” and had been watching Sebastian. She had the distinct feeling that the intelligent ones were all in that set. And they had insinuated themselves into the household because Sebastian needed them.

  All of these conclusions only opened up more questions. Where had they come from before they were “here”? Could they actually be ghosts, the spirits of former inhabitants of Redbuck? Was that even possible? The only ghosts that she had ever heard of were hardly the helpful creatures that these were—nor were they even a fraction so physical. If they weren’t ghosts, then what were they? Some sort of nature spirit? Something else entirely? The familiars of other magicians who had failed to release them when the magician died? How could she possibly tell?

  She went to her desk, made notes, wrote down all of her questions and drummed her fingers on the desk as she thought. Godmother should have noticed if these were familiars, she wrote. Unless Godmother hasn’t been here herself since Sebastian changed. Something else to ask about. But I would think that even Sebastian would have noticed if they were someone else’s familiars, wouldn’t he?

  I still don’t know enough about magic, she decided. But of course, there was someone here who did, and he wasn’t at all reluctant to discuss anything about magic. Sebastian would probably welcome questions, she thought, with a little amusement. I probably won’t be able to get him to stop once he starts talking.

  The problem was, just at the moment, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know these things. I need to think very carefully how I am going to phrase these questions, she decided, as she gathered up the items of clothing that hadn’t been carried off, and put them back in the closet. It looked very bare in there now—not only because about half the clothing that had been hanging in there was gone, but because the items removed had taken up so much room.

  She stretched, feeling ever so much more comfortable now that she was in one of her old, practical gowns. Genevieve is right, she thought with ironic resignation. I am never going to be a proper lady. I will never choose style over comfort.

  But the thought of her stepmother gave her pause—not because she was in the least afraid of what Genevieve was saying or doing right now, but because these past few days were the first in a very long time when she hadn’t been responsible for anyone but herself. When she wasn’t trying to fight down the fear of what she might become…it had been rather nice. If the Godmother was right, and she wasn’t infected, in three months time she would be back at home again, and—

  And after this, how can I ever settle into a life like hers? I already loathed gossip and gowns, and now…I am not sure I could ever just go back to supervising a household, not when I’ve seen all this. Which means that Genev
ieve is right again; no one is going to propose marriage to someone like me. Men want a wife who fits into society, and I am always going to be a little outside of it. Or perhaps, a great deal outside it. And if anyone ever finds out what really happened to me, would I become some sort of freakish thing, someone that people whisper about and wonder about?

  So what was she going to do with herself when she got back?

  She sat on the edge of the bed abruptly. Given what she had just gone through so far, simply remaining the odd spinster who stayed unwedded and made sure that her father’s household ran smoothly did not seem so bad… There was a great deal to be said for not being afraid you were going to become a vicious killer, or be hunted down by your former friends and acquaintances. And if people talked about her, so what? It wasn’t as if she craved all those invitations that came to the household. Granny would still treat her the same.

  Who knows? If I am eccentric enough, that might actually be a good thing. Eccentric people are often looked to for advice if they are wise enough. It might be good for business if I were to ask Father to set me up as an herbseller. And it would give Genevieve plenty to talk about, too, and she might leave the twins to grow into their own selves instead of little copies of her.

  She wasn’t entirely sure she would still be able to suffer Genevieve’s more ridiculous excesses in silence anymore, however. And that could cause more than a few household tremors.

  Oh…but will peace and quiet make up for all the things I know about now, all operating madly beneath the surface, things that people don’t even suspect? There was another thing; now she had seen magic at first hand. She knew, and not just abstractly, that there was so much more outside of the little circumscribed life she had led. Skating expeditions and Guild dances didn’t seem very exciting anymore. Could she ever go back to her old life after this?

  Nor was that all… Things are more complicated than even that. Now she had seen what was behind the faces that the King and the Godmother presented to the rest of the world. She knew now, and could never forget, that both of them were utterly ruthless when they needed to be. She had no doubt whatsoever that while Godmother Elena was going to try to save both her and Sebastian, if it came down to a choice, it would be Sebastian who was saved—and if it came down to “Sebastian and Bella or great danger to the Kingdom and beyond,” both of them would be sacrificed without a moment of hesitation. And for the King? It probably wasn’t even a question. He’d wield the blade himself.

  In abstract, she knew that this was how it had to be. Part of her knew that this was the only decision they could make. But part of her felt not only afraid, but betrayed. The King and the Godmother were supposed to take care of you! They weren’t supposed to be the ones who watched impassively as you went to your doom—or worse, took you to the edge of the Doom Cliff and shoved you over it!

  And if the King and the Godmother, both of whom were extraordinarily good people—she and everyone else in this Kingdom had evidence of just how good—could hide this ruthlessness, then how much darker were the things that not-so-good people hid? What villainy lurked behind the smiling faces she saw every day?

  So her safe little world would never be safe again… She knew that the nurturing hand also held the knife, and that was very unsettling. And now if she got the least hint that there was something beneath the surface of an action or a comment, she would be suspicious of anyone she didn’t know well.

  She felt the urge to go and unwrap that mirror, so that she could watch someone she knew and loved and trusted, and again resisted. She already knew what she would see, and it would only make her unhappy and lonely. What she needed was something to keep her mind busy. It would be easy enough to keep her hands busy, but she needed something to occupy her thoughts.

  Well, she was in a Manor filled with books. There might be a clue about Sapphire and the other unsummoned invisibles in them. She might as well start looking for books about magic creatures.

  Although the likelihood of finding anything here in her suite was pretty remote, she had to start somewhere—and besides, so far as she had been able to tell, the books here weren’t organized at all. For all she knew, something had gotten borrowed and left here by a previous guest. She might just as well remedy that before she turned to the larger library.

  When Verte turned up to summon her to supper, she had rearranged about half of the books on the shelves, and had already determined that there wasn’t anything about magic or the history of Redbuck here. But really, when she considered who had probably used these rooms, it wasn’t all that likely that the guests had been interested in magic at all. This had probably been a suite for important guests, so the books here were designed to amuse or serve as resources on questions of the Kingdom. They were divided unequally between various sorts of stories for the purposes of amusement only, and books on history. There were even a few about other Kingdoms. Such people had their own wizards or sorceresses to advise them about magic; they didn’t need to learn about it themselves.

  She was about to leave the room when she realized that she had never asked Verte the question that had led her to discover the invisibles were not all the sorts of creatures that Sebastian had thought they were. “Verte, are any of your musicians willing to play for me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he wrote on his slate.

  Could ghosts be musicians? I don’t know why not. They can obviously be seamstresses; why not musicians?

  She hesitated a moment, then made her request. “I should really like to have some music,” she said, wistfully.

  The reply was immediate. “You shall.”

  Sebastian was already eating when she came down, with a book propped up in front of him. He was shoveling the food into his mouth automatically, completely absorbed in what he was reading. As she entered the dining room and the invisible servant pulled out her chair for her, he actually jumped, as if she had startled him, and scrambled to his feet.

  “I am so sorry. I beg your pardon,” he blurted, blushing. “I got involved in researching things, and completely forgot that I wasn’t alone here. I’m just not used to having any people here but Eric anymore, and most of the time he’s off doing whatever it is he needs to do.”

  “Do you often read while you are eating?” she asked, taking her seat and nodding when the invisible steward offered her some of the first course.

  “Generally, yes,” he admitted. “Eric rarely eats supper with me, and even when he does, he’s not much of a conversationalist. I think he prefers it when I read, actually. It keeps him from having to try to make conversation.”

  Why am I not in the least surprised? she thought. Eric does not strike me as a fellow who considers conversation necessary at a meal. Then again, she couldn’t really blame him. Sebastian probably wouldn’t want to talk about anything Eric was interested in. What would Eric be interested in? Women, she supposed. She couldn’t picture Sebastian in a convivial, hearty, semidrunk discussion of women, the way many young men seemed to occupy their time. The sorts of things she had seen going on in taverns, but also in the private parlors of the wealthy when they weren’t out being polite to the young women they were supposed to be assessing for marriage. There were any number of parties she had gone to because Genevieve insisted, where she had taken to wandering off to see what she could find. It was amazing what young men would say when they thought there were no parents or young women about.

  But Sebastian didn’t seem at all the sort who sat about and boasted about what he’d been doing with the first chambermaid. Which sent her mind off briefly on a tangent… Could you get up to mischief with one of the invisibles? They had hands, but she wasn’t sure from Sapphire’s and Verte’s ministrations if they were human hands or not. And if you wanted to, how would you know which one was in your bed? She supposed an invisible lover might be very titillating for a while, but they were silent as well as invisible, so would that be off-putting?

  Ruthlessly she dragged her mind out of the gutter and b
ack to the dinner table, blushing a little at herself.

  Considering the number of meals she had taken in her life where mindless chatter had virtually dominated every bite, she wouldn’t have minded a few meals in silence herself.

  “I can see that. Eric does seem to be the sort who won’t use three words when one will do. So, what had you so enthralled?” she asked. If this was a book about magic, it would probably give her the opening she needed to start asking questions of her own.

  “I don’t know if enthralled is the word I would use,” he said, making a sour face. Unlike Eric, who seemed to have two expressions, arrogant and sullen, Sebastian practically radiated everything he was feeling. “It’s not very pleasant reading. It’s about accidental Transformations, times when something went wrong and a person or object got transformed that wasn’t supposed to be. I thought I would see if there were any were-creatures that had ever been created that way, and if there were, if they were infectious afterward. It’s just not fair for you to be locked up here for three months if there’s no need, but before I can say ‘there’s no need’ I have to have evidence. So since no one knows how I got this way, it seems reasonable that the same rules would apply.”

  Good heavens, he is taking his responsibility to me seriously! This was somewhat unexpected. She’d thought she would have to keep at him about it. Evidently not. “Why is it unpleasant reading?”

  “It’s a set of very detailed accounts. And since these are accidents, the results are, as my father would have said, ‘Not appropriate for dinnertime discussion, young man.’” He smiled at her over his spectacles, inviting her to share the joke. “That used to strike me as grossly unfair since he and his men saw nothing wrong with discussing tournament wounds, bloody battlefields and detailed ways they’d dispatched whatever it was they had been hunting that day over their food.”