Hemlock Veils (22 page)

She chuckled.

“What is it?”

“I’m just imagining the verbal abuse you would get if he heard you call him Henry. Really, it’s hard to imagine him as Henry at all.”

Rather than amused, he seemed trapped in another distant, fond memory. He stared at his age-spotted hands, smiling just subtly. “Sometimes, he’s just Henry to me.”

That made her smile for some reason. “Were you here the first time the beast appeared? I think Eustace said it was that same year.”

“Yes,” he answered with grave eyes. They remained distant, but this time they were not lost in fond memories.

“Was it just as Eustace described?”

“To some, yes.”

Her brow tensed in question.

“The way events affect people are a matter of perspective, aren’t they, Elizabeth?”

She nodded.

“Well, to most, it was as awful as Eustace described. To others…worse.”

“To others?”

His smile hid something. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

Trying to hide her disappointment, she nodded. “Arne, may I ask what Mr. Clayton does for a living?” She straightened from the look on his face. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It…is something best left to Mr. Clayton to answer.” He met her eyes, leaning forward on his elbows. “Tell me, why is it you’ve taken such an interest in Mr. Clayton?”

She straightened again, this time defensively. Ever so faintly, heat flushed her face. “I take an interest because he’s the one who owns everything here. He’s the one I have to answer to now. He’s the one everyone fears.” Her eyes narrowed. “Except you. I don’t see fear in you, Arne. Just…respect.” She half-smiled. “An unfathomable amount of respect, if you ask me.”

He chuckled, but sobered when he met her eyes, clasping his hands together as his elbows remained on his knees. “What about you, Elizabeth? There’s no fear in you either.”

“I’ve always thought it silly to fear a man.”

“Ah, but what about a beast?”

“That’s…different.”

“It’s horribly frightening—a creature most say represents the devil himself. Yet you don’t see that.”

She shrugged, looking to her feet as she set her empty glass on the deck and tucked a strand of hair that had strayed from her ponytail behind her ear.

“It’s all right, Elizabeth. You can confide in me.”

She met his eyes, believing that. Still she didn’t answer.

“You’re afraid I will judge you?”

“No. I don’t concern myself with the judgment of others.”

“Then why not tell me?”

“Because if the town knew I thought the beast was more of a victim than
they
were, I would get kicked out, especially by Mr. Clayton.”

“A victim?” he asked, flinching in surprise. “Interesting word choice.”

“I know I’m already labeled crazy, but…” She sighed again, and something in his eyes said her words were safe with him. “I just think whoever he is, he didn’t
choose
this. Maybe he deserved it at one point, but now…I don’t know, I see something in him…begging to get out.”

A faraway sadness resided in his eyes. “Your perspective is fascinating, to say the least.”

“Please, don’t tell anyone, Arne. Especially Mr. Clayton.”

“Don’t tell me what, Ms. Ashton?”

Elizabeth jumped from her chair, nearly knocking it over when she turned. Mr. Clayton stood on the other side of the railing with his hands in his pockets, his lower half disappearing beneath the deck. He wore a pale yellow button-down shirt, much more casual than his suits, and the top two buttons were unfastened. Even his hair fell more casually—not combed away from his face like usual. It was messier, freer, and in this manner it appeared longer. His level of attraction doubled, even as he glared at her. She gulped, cursing internally.

“Nothing, Mr. Clayton. Arne and I were discussing some…personal matters. You know, juicy secrets.” She folded her arms, and his eyes seemed to say
touché
.

“I was just helping Elizabeth, Mr. Clayton,” Arne said, standing slowly. “She’s moving in today. You can offer
your
assistance if you’d like. I am getting too old for this.”

“As far as it appears, Ms. Ashton is mostly moved in. She’s young and more than capable.” He met her eyes. “Now, Ms. Ashton, if you’ll excuse us, I need Arne.”

He disappeared around the corner and Arne sighed. “I’m needed by the master.” He handed her his glass and walked down the steps, but then turned back. “I know I’ve already said this, but I like you, Elizabeth. Very much.”

She smiled. “I like you too, Arne. Very much.”

***

The weather from the day before had been a fluke, the sun out only to tease. Now, the evening of the day following Elizabeth and Arne’s chat, rain poured outside her kitchen window, backed with lightning and thunder for added effect. The sky was dark, darker than usual at seven thirty. In the morning, she would officially open Jean’s doors for business, and her chest fluttered with excitement. She’d already spent most of her evening there, preparing dough for the pastries, and hadn’t returned home until just ten minutes ago.

As she unpacked her last box of personal belongings—books and cookbooks she arranged in alphabetical order on her shelf—she stared fondly at the last one, taking up the entire width of the box, cover face-up.
Fairy Tales and Folklore: Truth in Legend
. Lengthy, heavy, and wide, with a bulky leather cover and a title in faded gold: a compilation of not just the most commonly heard fairy tales, but some known only to those with an interest. But mostly, aside from telling the tales, it was meant to be a reference guide to those who believed them, full of information, tips, and cross-references. Its print date was 1941, and her father had found it at a local used bookstore in his early twenties, or so he’d said. They’d read it many times together when she was a child, from cover to cover, and he’d given it to her for her eighteenth birthday, only days before he’d passed. As though he was trying to pass his knowledge as a gift.

She’d forgotten most of the myths inside, probably due to her desire as a teenager to rid her life of all childish things. Now, hefting it, she wondered how many of them were more reality than myth. Her mind had been blown on the first night she saw the beast; and she did feel a certain magic in this forest, a magic that felt like home. Perhaps her father’s fairy tales held more water than she’d thought.

Opening it, she skimmed through, and old memories awakened at the touch of smooth, glossy pages. After minutes of browsing, she found the tale of Absolon and Elvire, a moving one about love and looking past one’s appearance. It was a story about the Cursed and the Curse Breaker: terms she had heard from her father on many occasions, and terms she had, until just now, forgotten about. They pierced her soul in a way she didn’t understand, and she brushed off the prodding of her heart, stored it in the back of her mind for a later time. The fable wasn’t long, and below it was a cross-reference to the hefty section dedicated to
Aglaé
, the one who cursed Absolon.
Aglaé
was a kind of enchantress, one the Witch section devoted the most attention to.

Elizabeth flipped to that section, with drawings and descriptions of every kind. She stopped on the third, the
Aglaé
—mesmerized by the splendor of the hand-drawn beauty, just as she’d been as a child. She had stared at this picture for hours as a child, simply in awe at the enchantress’s beauty.
Aglaé
: it meant beautiful splendor in French. It may have been a mere drawing, but she embodied something real and human, even in her splendor. Her long golden hair flowed to her waist in waves. With her delicate wrists and hands lifted in an embrace-like gesture, and her ruby-colored robe, her knowing eyes—the same color as her robe—appeared to seduce. And most sensual of all were her lips, curved in an enticing smile.
Aglaé
used her beauty to hypnotize men.

But only the foolish and unfaithful were her prey.

She could shift her form into anything or anyone in her attempt to snare them. It explained that as a women’s advocate,
Aglaé
would most commonly transform said men into the animals they behaved like: monkeys, dogs, jackasses, even frogs. Then, at the bottom of the list it simply said,
monsters
. It elaborated in the next paragraph, explaining that
Aglaé
was the most unfair of any enchantress. For some men, a ferocious and undefined beast was the only form she thought fitting for their characters, and for the rest of their lives they were labeled as such. Cursed for eternity, and the only way those curses could lift was by nearly impossible acts.

The following paragraph explained a few of the curses, but noted that there were too many variations to list. Elizabeth skipped to the next paragraph, where it said that in the rare case she might transform a man into such a monster, the cures were too far from their reach.

Her curses gave her strength.

And if the subject of her curse was unable to break it, her power grew.

These enchantresses, ruthless in their desire to keep these men prisoner, would go through extreme measures to keep them cursed. Even transforming into forms of hideous, murderous evil themselves.

Elizabeth closed the book with a huff, a sort of skeptical laugh. It was all so ridiculous.

Yet she found herself questioning its validity. Really, such magic couldn’t be
too
far-fetched. After all, the beast was inexplicable—undefined by books and incomparable to any known species. Most importantly, he was
human
. Elizabeth saw it, felt it. And this fairy tale—this story that stretched beyond impossible—fit. What had happened to the beast, and who had he been? What was his curse, and what was he being punished for? Could an enchantress like this be responsible for his existence?

She looked up at the same time that distinct chill tingled down her spine, her eyes shooting to the window behind her. She hadn’t closed her drapes the past few nights for this very reason. She’d been faithful to Mr. Clayton’s demand that she not enter the forest alone, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t watch him through the window at night. And just as he had the past two nights, he watched her, too. He came closer every night, this time only two feet from her window. His eyes pled for something she didn’t understand as the rain soaked him, streaming off the pointy tips of his ears. He seemed unaffected by it, but shook himself free of accumulating water, droplets smaller than the rain misting the air. Now, more than ever, she wanted to meet him outside. She wanted to know more, and she knew he wanted to know about her, too.

But in rising she reminded herself of the honorable person she once thought she was. She’d made a deal with Mr. Clayton, as unfortunate as it was, and would honor it. Besides, there was something…unsettling about the way the beast stood. It appeared he stood guard, as though he had become her night watchman. What was he guarding her from, and what could possibly be more terrifying than him?

With a hand on the window, she said she was sorry, wondering if he could hear, and with hesitation—and even sadness—she closed the drapes. There was no point in entertaining the temptation. She stood still a moment, feeling him there, and then felt nothing. She peeked, ever so discreetly, finding the place he stood empty.

She made her way to the bathroom, turning the handle over the old ceramic tub. A groan resonated from deep inside the pipe, followed by a gurgle. Right as she thought it was just her luck, water spewed from the joint of the pipe and shot in every direction, drenching everything. The cold water shocked her chest, stealing her breath, and while covering her eyes, she felt for the handle to turn it off. It took a moment, but finally all was still, and she sat in a large puddle of water, dripping as ferociously as the beast had been outside her window.

***

On her way to the door, Elizabeth grabbed a small sack of her belongings, her keys, and her new umbrella. It was just before six a.m. and the sun hadn’t begun to rise, but she needed to shower before she went to the shop; she needed it like she needed sunshine. She’d called Regina the night before to ask if she could make a stop over there the next morning, and Regina had offered her the use of her shower before Elizabeth could even ask. Once again, she was indebted to her only real friend here. Her only friend in human form, anyway.

Rain still poured from the night before, heavy and relentless. Cold and damp darkness took over, and she tightened the bag under her arm before stepping out and closing the door. Even with an umbrella overhead, she felt the moisture, from deep in her bones.

Almost to her car, she stopped short. A dark figure approached, rain ricocheting off his shoulders. She couldn’t make him out, but he held something in his hand. He seemed to walk with difficulty, too, and he brought the item in his hand to his mouth. A bottle of liquor, no doubt.

She sighed and kept moving. “What are you doing here, Brian?” she called over the rain.

“I need a reason to see you?” His voice was slower than usual, giving away his inebriation, and he blocked her way. He wore regular jeans and a t-shirt beneath a denim jacket, and the bottle in his hand—nearly empty—was large.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

A clumsy hand wiped his face. “I’ve been up all night. You know what I’ve been thinking about?”

She swallowed instead of answering.

“I’ve been thinking about you, and how you turned down my deal.”

“I’m sorry I’m keeping you up at night.” She tried getting around him, but he blocked her again, laughing.

“I’m messing with you, Beth. You don’t have
that
much a hold over me.”

“That’s good to know. I really should get going though. I have a lot to do before the shop opens. You’re welcome to come by when it does. You know, when you’re sober.”

He laughed again, inching closer, and his breath reeked of rum. “I’m planning on it. But I’m here ’cause I wanted to catch you before you went to Regina’s.”