A second anguished scream made her jump up, her heart pounding. Someone was in pain, and there was only one other person in residence besides herself.
Eyes wide, she looked at Fluffy. “Where’s Beast? Where’s Beast, Fluffy!”
In a flash, Fluffy turned and ran right to the tapestry on her wall, pawing at it mercilessly. When Bell didn’t move quickly enough, he turned to her and barked, encouraging her to get a move on. Confused, she walked forward, pausing in front of the ornate piece. A howl broke the nightly silence. This close, it seemed like the sound was emanating from the other side of the wall.
Without hesitating, she grabbed the tapestry and pulled with all her strength. It came free of its hangings and collapsed on top of Belladonna and Fluffy, entombing them in luxurious fabric. Several moments passed while they struggled to remove themselves from the cloying material, each passing second highlighted by another of Beast’s mangled screams.
Extracting herself with much effort, Bell stood and faced the newly uncovered wall. No longer hidden by the tapestry, an ornate door stood. Bell rushed forward and grabbed the handle, pushing with all her might. The door didn’t move.
“Damn. Fluffy, this is locked. How am I supposed to get in there?” Normally when posed with a question, he seemed almost human and answered as best a dog could, but tonight he just continued to scratch at the door crying. “I don’t think I can break down a door on the best day, let alone tonight. What do I do?”
While bent over to inspect the doorknob, the key on the chain around her neck swung out. It’s golden color glinted the same color as the knob. Gripping it, Bell gave one solid yank, breaking the chain’s clasp. Shoving the key into the lock, she gave a silent prayer of thanks when it turned.
Leaping into the room, she found Beast thrashing on the bed, whimpering in agony. Fluffy, whimpering as well, ran to Beast and started nudging him.
“Beast,” she called, stepping up to the bed. “Beast, are you okay?”
From her position at his bedside, she could see tear tracks crossing down his cheeks, navigating around his scars. Reaching out tentatively, Bell shook his shoulder. “Beast, wake up, please. Beast!”
His only response was a pained groan - it didn’t seem like he could wake up from whatever was tormenting him in his sleep.
Bell looked at Fluffy, who seemed to know more about the situation than she did. He whined and licked Beast’s face.
“As smart as you are, I don’t think you can help me here.” Her hand brushed the sweat gathered on Beast’s brow. Struck by inspiration, Bell began stumbling around, trying to find the washbasin and pitcher of water. After tripping over several stacks of books that had been discarded in tall piles, she found what she was looking for on a dressing table across from the bed.
Grabbing the hand towel, Bell doused it in cool water. On the return journey, she took small steps on her way back to Beast’s side. Slowly seating herself on the edge of the bed, Bell took the cloth and wiped away first his tear tracks, and then his forehead. After a few moments, his breathing became less labored, his moans less frequent. Bell pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He still seemed warm to the touch.
For whatever reason, in all their time together, Beast had tried his hardest to never touch her. She knew he would hate to have her this close to his face and scars, and loath even more that she was brushing her bare hand along them. Staring at her fingers, Bell watched them creep down to brush his cheeks. The scars there, much like everywhere else, were twisted and raised, ropes of flesh once whole that had become too distorted to heal.
Even with the mass of visible torment marring his features, Bell could feel Beast’s high cheekbones, his soft lips, even the smoothness of the skin not contorted. With her fingers acting as eyes, the contours of his face created an image of Beast in her head – a whole, wonderfully handsome man, with eyes that weren’t haunted by ghosts she couldn’t see.
A hand grabbed her, and Bell let out a startled gasp. She had been so transfixed by his face that she hadn’t noticed him raising his hand towards her.
“It’s me, Beast. It’s Bell – Belladonna,” she whispered, trying to pry his hand off her wrist before his crushing grip bruised her further. He didn’t respond.
Leaning in to take a closer look at his face, Bell realized his eyes were still closed, and he was still whimpering like an injured animal.
He started drawing her towards him. “Cold… cold...” he mumbled. Before Bell could pry herself loose, he yanked her onto the bed next to him. Shocked, she lay still as he curled around her, holding her close. Bell realized his whimpering had stopped for the first time since she had entered the room. Since the first scream that had awakened her, he hadn’t stopped crying; each variation of vocalized pain equally terrifying. With her back pressed up against his chest, she could feel his breathing slowing and becoming less ragged.
Holding her breath, Bell started wriggling, trying to extricate herself from his embrace. She hadn’t gotten far when his arm clamped down on her harder, making any movement impossible. Bell admitted defeat and relaxed into the mattress. She had to admit to herself that his warmth was lulling her back to sleep.
Bell emerged from slumber, annoyed that the curtains were open as she always slept with them closed. She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the bed, determined to get a few more minutes of sleep.
The heavy arm draped across her moved. Befuddled by sleep, Bell had to sort through several thoughts before she came to the conclusions that:
1) the warmth she was snuggling into was breathing deep, slow breaths,
2) there was an arm holding her close, and
3) she had been in Beast’s room the night before.
“Nooooooooo…” she groaned, coming to full consciousness. She must have fallen asleep before she could wiggle out of his embrace and go back to her bed.
The very last thing Bell wanted was for Beast to find her in his room and in such a compromising position. He had been avoiding her for days, and the idea that he would find her in his bed was mortifying. Even now, she could feel her cheeks heating up with embarrassment.
She had been so concerned last night, both for Beast with his screaming and…
“Geranium!” she screamed, leaping out of bed in complete disregard for Beast’s prone figure next to her.
“Oof!” he groaned as Bell stepped on him in her rush back to her own room. Any embarrassment she may have felt was forgotten, her concern for her sister, her only thought.
Running back through the now un-hidden door, Bell sprinted through her suite, skidding to a stop in her sitting room. Right on the table where she had left them was her undrunk pot of tea and mirror.
She picked up the mirror and frantically tapped it three times. Dimly she registered that Beast was calling her name from another room, and Fluffy was contributing to the noise with excited barks, but she was fixated on the images and sounds emanating from the glass.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Poppy and Papa watched as Dr. Jayr crouched next to Geranium’s prone body. The kids were sitting on the floor around their mother’s feet, silent gargoyles.
“It’s been a week Doctor, when is she going to wake up?” Papa asked deep worry lines dividing his face.
Dr. Jayr sighed and replied without looking up from his examination. “I don’t know. Her eyes dilate to light, but that’s an automatic response. I hate to say it, but we might need to consider what to do if she doesn’t wake up. The beating she took was extreme, one of the worst I’ve seen. She’s lucky to be alive, even in this state.”
Papa dropped his mug, but it took several seconds for Poppy to process what the Doctor was saying. “You mean… Doctor, you mean that she is going to be like this forever?”
Rising, Doctor Jayr turned to her. “Yes, I’m afraid that is what I’m saying. The trauma her body, including her head, experienced was extreme. The longer she’s unconscious, the less likely she is to wake up. I’ve done everything I can, and so
have you. Sometimes there is just nothing we can do.” He took Poppy’s limp hand, patting it as tears started to run down her cheeks. “Of course, I’ll continue to come to check on her, but there isn’t much I can do anymore. I am so sorry.”
He started towards the door, resting a comforting hand on Papa’s shoulder as he passed. “I’ll take my leave.”
Frank had crept to his aunt’s side and brushed the hair off her forehead with a soft touch. He stared at her with little boy intensity. “Aunty, you need to wake up now. We’re all here, and we’re waiting. It’s okay, you’re safe now. Please, Aunty. Please.” Grabbing her hand with his little boy fingers, he bowed his head, unable to say anything else. Without warning, Frank let out a screech. “Aunty squeezed my hand! MOM! Come here!”
Poppy jumped up and ran to her sister, grabbing her other hand. “Geranium? Are you there? Can you open your eyes?”
Everyone crowded around her, waiting for any response. After long, heart-wrenching moments, Geranium ever so slightly shook her head no. Eyes still closed, her lips parted, and she pushed the word “hurts” out.
With this confirmation that her sister was, in fact, conscious, Poppy let go of her hand and sprinted out the front door. Papa and her children stared after her, bewildered.
“Grandpapa, where did Momma go?” Frank asked, still clutching his Aunt’s hand, afraid to let go and have whatever magic that had awoken her break.
Papa stared after his eldest daughter. “I have absolutely no idea.” He grabbed the hand Poppy had abandoned and began to openly weep. “My dear, beautiful daughter. You’re okay.” Choking on the last word, he said no more, only bowing his head over his daughter’s hand, much like his grandson had done moments earlier.
“I came Papa. I made it home,” Geranium croaked, her eyes still shut tight. Her father cried harder, taking big gasping breaths.
The front door was pushed open with such force that it hit the wall with a bang. An out of breath, Poppy and Dr. Jayr entered, both heading straight to Geranium. “Move please,” Dr. Jayr commanded as he approached the bed. All the children and Papa skittered out of the way, no one daring to disobey.
Sitting, he cradled Geranium’s hand. He leaned over and murmured to her, “Geranium, I am the doctor that has been treating you. May I examine you?”
Geranium twitched her shoulder in assent. Dr. Jayr took the permission and began to check her rapidly, starting at her feet and moving upwards. When he reached her stomach and pressed, she gasped, but the Doctor seemed satisfied that she could tolerate the slight pressure. Finally, he reached her head.
“I am going to check your head, and then your face. I will need you to lift your head slightly to reach the back. Do you think you can do that?”
He waited for a moment for Geranium’s whispered, “Yes.”
“Good. I’ll tell you when.”
The stitches and wound on Geranium’s skull seemed to be healing acceptably, and he moved on to her face. Pausing, he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “This is going to hurt – I’m sorry. Your right cheekbone and your left eye socket were both broken. I need to check them. Forgive me.”
Before she could respond, he started checking her face, the only indication of her discomfort, the tears spilling from her eyes. Finished, he sat back, a worried frown clouding his face.
“There’s no way around it,” he muttered and leaned over Geranium again. “Geranium, I need you to do one more thing for me. I don’t want to scare you, but the part of your brain that controls sight is in the back of the head, and you were hit very, very hard there. Your skull is intact, but you experienced a severe concussion. I know you don’t feel well, but I need you to open your eyes and tell me if you can still see.”
Papa cut in, accusation lacing every word. “You never said that!”
Eyes still focused on his patient. Dr. Jayr said, “There was no reason to make you worry more. We were all unsure if she would even wake up.” Addressing his patient again, Dr. Jayr asked, “Can you do that for me?”
Reaching out blindly for his hand, Geranium found it and gripped it in a strangling hold. She nodded.
Everyone in the room held their breath, even the children, although Frank was the only one that grasped the gravity of the situation. Terror was written clearly on his face.
Her eyes cracked and then opened. “No, Doctor. I can’t see anything.”
The color leeched from Dr. Jayr’s face, but no one else in the room said a word. “I see,” he forced out through tight lips.
“Does it… Is it night right now?” Geranium asked, a sliver of hope sneaking out.
Poppy shook her head before she realized that her sister wouldn’t be able to see the movement. “No, sister, it’s lunchtime.”
“I guess I really did use all my luck up to get here.” It was evident to everyone in the room that Geranium was dangerously close to tears. “My sight isn’t coming back, is it Doctor?” Dr. Jayr didn’t say anything. Geranium reached out the hand that wasn’t holding his and touched his cheek clumsily. “Please tell me, Doctor.”
“No, I don’t think so. If you do, it will be a miracle.” His composure broke, and he began to cry.
Bell dropped the mirror in horror.
A strong arm wrapped itself around her shoulders, pulling her close. She had been so engrossed in what was happening with her family she had been oblivious to Beast approaching and sitting next to her on the settee.
Grieved beyond thought, she sobbed into his chest, mourning all her sister had been through and all she had lost. Beast held her, stroking her hair as she cried herself out. Her gasping sobs turned to small hiccups, which slowly subsided.
Separating herself, she looked up into Beast’s face. It was as lined with worry as Dr. Jayr’s had been. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, aware that there was a large wet spot on his shirt where her face had been resting.
Beast shook his head, reaching up to gently wipe a lingering tear from her cheek. “I have several questions, Belladonna, but first, I think we need to go down to the kitchen for a cup of tea and breakfast. Come.”
Chapter Seven
Bell sat still as a statue, staring at her plate, which was still full of the pastries and fresh fruit Beast had placed on it. On any other day, she would have devoured such treats, but today her stomach was rolling. All she had managed to get down was some tea.
“Eat,” Beast commanded, pointing half a croissant at her plate. “You’ve had a shock, and we can’t talk if you’re going to faint. Please.”
Morosely she stabbed a slice of cantaloupe with her fork and took a small bite. Beast watched her chew and swallow before he turned back to his own food.
Once she had forced down half her plate Beast conceded to her request to be done. Standing, he grabbed her hand again. Bell looked down at their clasped fingers, confused by the easy touches this morning.
“Let’s go outside and talk.” He glanced at her still pale face and frowned. “I think some sunlight would do you good.”
He strode out of the kitchen, dragging Bell behind him. By the time they reached the pond, she was gasping for air. Glaring at him, Bell snapped, “You could have slowed down any of the times I pulled on your hand. If you hadn’t noticed your legs are significantly longer than mine, and as of yet, I don’t know how to fly.”
Confusion clouded his face. “What? When did you pull on my hand?”
With a loud huff, she plopped down on the bench beside him. “Never mind.” She could feel his bewildered eyes on her. Unwilling to meet them, she glowered at the smooth surface of the pond. With no birds or fish to ripple the surface, it was always calm, a perfect mirror.
Suddenly the perfection of the water infuriated Bell. She grabbed a stone from the ground and stood, throwing it with all her might at the smooth surface. The splash and consequential ripples didn’t make her feel any better. Picking up stone after stone, she threw them, letting out a scream of pure rage. Beast sat there and watched until she yelled
herself hoarse.
Collapsing back onto the bench, Bell stared at the rippling water. Beast’s voice brought her back to the present.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Bell asked.
“I need to ask you some questions, Belladonna. I don’t understand what’s going on right now.” Meeting her eyes, he asked, “What kind of mirror is that, and where did you get it from?’
Bell just blinked at him. She had thought his line of questioning would be more along the lines of “Why were you in my bed when I woke up, in my room, which I have never given you permission to enter?”
“What?” she asked, struck dumb. This morning she felt like she distinctly lacked the brain cells needed to communicate.
“Why do you have that mirror, and where did you get it from?”
Collecting her thoughts, she looked up into Beast’s face. “It’s a mirror that shows me what’s going on at Flor Cottage where my family is. Sidero gave it to me one day when I was missing everyone excessively, and I check it every morning to see what’s happening with them. Part of my deal with the Fae court was that if I stayed here, Papa would be taken care of, as I was his only caretaker.”
Rose Bound Magic Page 8
