Beauty and the Beast_ Lost in a Book(3)

The girl was frightened of him at first, Death thought, and who wouldn’t be? But she isn’t anymore. This girl is the rarest of creatures—one who sees with her heart. My sister is right. She could be the one. And that won’t do.

Turning on her heel, her skirts swirling behind her like an ill wind, Death crossed the room to a towering cabinet. She opened it, then ran a finger over the books on its shelves.

“There you are!” she whispered, pulling one out.

Bound in black leather, the book was dusty and old. Its spine was cracked, but its title was still visible: NEVERMORE.

“Mouchard! Truqué!” Death barked. “Come!”

Two vultures left their roost atop the mantel and flew to her. They were enormous birds with coal-black feathers and cruel beaks. A dozen more just like them were perched around the room.

“Take this book to the Beast’s castle. Put it in the library,” Death commanded. “Be sure no one sees you.”

One of the vultures let out a harsh squawk.

“No, Mouchard, you insolent creature, it’s not cheating,” Death said. “It’s just stacking the deck a bit. You think my sister won’t do the same? You know what she’s like. She acts as if she’s made of dewdrops and moonbeams, but she’s ferocious. A sweet-faced little savage. She’ll stop at nothing to win the wager.”

The second vulture screeched. He shook his head, and then his wings. Death’s pale cheeks flushed with indignation.

“I know there are rules, Truqué!” she said. “I know I cannot go to the girl before her time. But what if she comes to me? What if I can bind her here? That changes things, doesn’t it?”

The vulture considered his mistress’s words, then dipped his head and grabbed the book with his sharp talons. Death opened a window, and the two birds swooped off into the night. As she watched them go, her sister’s words came back to her.

You have no idea how the story ends.

Death’s bloodred lips curved into a grim, determined smile.

“Oh, but I do,” she purred. “Because I intend to write it.”





BELLE STOOD IN FRONT of the doors to the library with a mop in one hand, a bucket in the other, and a wide, excited grin.

Arrayed on the floor around her were several objects—a gleaming golden candelabrum in the shape of a man, a stocky bronze mantel clock, a squat porcelain teapot, a little teacup with a chip in its rim, a feather duster with a peacock-shaped handle, and a four-legged fringed footstool.

The candelabrum spoke first.

“My darling girl, you’re holding that mop as if it were a sword,” he teased. “You look like you’re going into battle!” He had flaming candles instead of hands, and he flourished one dramatically now, as if challenging Belle to a duel.

“I am going into battle, Lumiere, and so are you. You have no idea what’s waiting beyond those doors,” Belle said, laughing.

Lumiere grimaced. “Actually, I do,” he said. “The master has many admirable qualities, but tidiness is not one of them.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” declared the mantel clock, pushing his way past them. “Are you forgetting that I rode with the comte de Rochambeau at the Siege of Yorktown?”

Lumiere rolled his eyes. “Not for a second, mon ami,” he said.

“We trounced the redcoats and sent them packing! This old soldier is more than a match for a couple of cobwebs!” Cogsworth declared.

He gave the massive doors a push. They swung open, hinges groaning. As they did, Cogsworth, still blustering, fell silent. He took a few steps into the cavernous room. The other servants joined him. Everyone stared in horror at the scene before them. Everyone but Belle.





WITH A CRY OF DELIGHT, Belle ran into the center of the room, put her mop and bucket down, and turned around in a wide circle, her face full of wonder.

It seemed to her that every book ever written was here. There were novels and plays. Love poems. Legends and folktales. Volumes of philosophy, history, science, mathematics. Earlier that morning, when she’d first opened her eyes, she was afraid she’d only dreamed the library and the treasures it contained. But no. It was real. It was here. She was here.

“Oh, my. Oh, my goodness,” the teapot said, her voice faltering.

“I know, Mrs. Potts. Isn’t it amazing?” Belle exclaimed.

“Mon Dieu,” said the feather duster, her tone dire. “I’ve never seen such a—a…”

“—wonderful, incredible, astonishing place!” Belle finished. “I agree, Plumette!”

Books were Belle’s favorite things in the world. She devoured them. Villeneuve, her village, had a library, technically. But really it was just a shelf in Pere Robert’s church. She’d read every book on it. Twice. But this library had so many books, she could never read them all. Not if she lived to be a thousand.