New Tales From Old Yarn

by Barbara Becc

  Rose just looks at her, confused. “You don’t think we-”

  “N-no, no, I mean... nobody ever said it had to be romantic, did it?” She can see Rose considering what she's telling her, but she doesn't seem to quite understand yet. “We thought your mother was just being cruel, but she would’ve been leaving you alone, she would’ve wanted to know whether he’d-”

  “Love me,” Rose finishes, finally understanding. Her face crumpling, she lays her head down on his chest and breaks, her whole body shaking with the force of her sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn't understand, please, Papa, I love you, I’m so sorry...”

  Tears pooling in Belle's eyes, she reaches out to lay a hand on Rose’s shoulder, but recoils with a gasp as she sees a soft glow emanate from the Beast's body - Rose seems oblivious, but when it grows brighter, she sits up with a choked gasp, shuffling back from the light. It only grows brighter, until the Beast's entire body disappears behind the glow of the magic - it stays that way for a few moments, and Rose shoots Belle a teary, bewildered look, until finally, the glow begins to fade. But when the Beast's silhouette becomes visible again, Belle can immediately see that he has changed, and her heart leaps with a new hope that is only confirmed when the glow fades completely, and the two girls see, not a beast, but a man whose younger self Belle has seen in portraits in the castle. His eyes open, and Rose gives a shuddering gasp as he turns his head to look at her, realisation dawning on his face as he sees his hand, his human hand, lying on the grass beside him.

  “Papa?”

  “Rose,” he says, softly, his face breaking into a smile, the same stunned, shaky smile that appears on his daughter’s face. Moving as one, she throws herself at him, and he sits up to receive her; they collide with a force that must hurt Rose’s father’s chest after its only recently healed wound, but they cling to each other without caring, burying their faces in each other's shoulders. “Oh, god, Rose.”

  Even just looking at them, at the way tears stream freely down the former Beast’s cheeks, Belle can feel her own eyes filling, and for the first time she can remember, she doesn't care. When Rose’s father opens his eyes again, seeing Belle for the first time, he gives her a watery smile, outstretching an arm to her - at first, Belle hesitates, not wanting to interrupt, but the gratitude in his eyes and the relief still flooding through her at his recovery persuade her otherwise. He pulls her into their embrace without a second thought, and when Rose's hand finds hers in the tangle of limbs, Belle finds herself surrounded with more love than she ever thought she’d feel in her life.

  As the sun sets over the castle gardens and all of its beloved roses, it is a beautiful day to be home, and it is the perfect word for it, even if Belle had to make it herself.

  Beautiful Anomalies

  Audrey Rose B.

  Beautiful anomalies is a retelling of the story of the Pied Piper, set in a more modern world. When children vanish from the little town of Hamelin, Detective Sitara Galrind goes after the man (if he can be called that) responsible for the disappearance. To find the missing children, she’ll need to be smarter than he is, and be careful that he doesn’t whisk her away to another world too. But Sitara has a secret of her own, and the Piper is a master at playing games.

  ~~~

  A square neon lamp hung from the ceiling, and white light flickered on the iron-grey walls of the interrogation room. Sitara’s reflection was stark and bleak in the one-way mirror. The grim lighting tamed the tawny beige of her skin and magnified the purple lines under her eyes, giving her face a sickly glow.

  She had slept less than twelve hours over the last three days.

  The girl in the mirror looked gaunt, frightening, alien, even in her bland gray pantsuit and tight ponytail. She wondered what her colleagues beyond the glass pane saw when they looked at her. Did they see an exhausted and determined co-worker in desperate need of more caffeine, or an angular and lethal creature, possessed by something raw and wild, hard to contain?

  Discomfort forced Sitara’s gaze away from her own face. Besides, the real danger in the room was elsewhere.

  Her attention snapped back to the man, if he could be called that, who sat in front of her.

  He lounged in his seat like a monarch on a throne, legs stretched out and crossed. His fingers drummed on the edge of the table. Nobody had bothered to cuff him, and it was a miracle that they’d caught him in the first place. Sitara didn’t doubt that the entire unit buzzed with excitement and apprehension over his presence within their walls.

  Sitara studied his fingerless gloves, mesmerized by the steady, rapid cadence of his fingers on the table. His gloves were made of granite-grey wool, which seemed like an odd choice. From him, she would have expected leather, silk, or some magical fabric hewn from moonlight and nightmares, not something as plain as wool.

  Did the winter nights set his teeth on edge? Did he feel the cold, did he shiver in the wind?

  Sitara slid into the opposite chair and examined him.

  He wore a plain sweater, dark green like a forest in the night, over a white shirt. A black tie hung loose and careless around his neck. His hair, shades of copper and auburn, was slicked back, with a handful of strands spilling across his forehead. As for his eyes, Sitara refused to linger on them for too long. She knew better than to marvel at the amber flecks in his brown gaze, like golden stardust dancing deep in the abyss.

  When he smiled, it was gentle and harmless. A swift curve of his lips, and he turned into a polite young man, a bashful college student, an innocent deer. A mask, a trick.

  Sitara’s mouth tightened. “Where are they?”

  His laughter chimed like the song of a distant river, buried in memories she didn’t know she had. “Straight to the point, I see.” His voice reminded her of a feather, a teasing caress meant to draw goosebumps.

  “I don’t like to waste time.”

  “So I see. You found me in four days. Others would have needed weeks.”

  “And I’ll find the children just as quick. This, here, is an opportunity for you to cooperate. Reduce your penance. We’re doing you a favor. So you might as well help us before we find them on our own.”

  He laughed again. “Oh, I highly doubt you’ll manage that. They’re well-hidden.”

  “So they’re alive.”

  His smile widened. “Corpses can be hidden, too.”

  Earlier, Captain Jace had taken Sitara aside and warned her that she wasn’t ready for this.

  “He’s a monster, Galrind,” she’d told her. “A human-looking one, maybe, but a monster nonetheless. His kind usually is.”

  Sitara had insisted. She’d read his file enough times to know it by heart. He may have been an enigma built on countless conflicting tales and wrapped up in mist, but that enigma belonged to her.

  The Pied Piper was hers.

  She had found him. She had smoked him out. She could wring answers out of him, and nothing would kill the resolve burning deep within her.

  “Even your kind doesn’t kill children lightly.”

  His brow quirked. “My kind? And that would be? Besides, you forget. Humans kill, too. Humans are capable of horrors that rival what ‘my kind’ can do.” He mimed quotation marks, a slick and effortless gesture that seemed too human for him. “We don’t have a monopoly on atrocities.”

  “Where are the children, Sorrel?”

  She could have sworn the golden specks in his gaze had kindled.

  “Ah,” he said. “Sorrel. Is that the name you have on file?”

  “It’s your first name, isn’t it? The one your mother gave you.”

  “It’s possible. I do prefer my other moniker, though.”

  “Too bad. Sorrel is what I’m calling you.”

  “And what should I call you?”

  She pursed her lips. “Detective Galrind.”

  “I’m not sure that works for me. If you insist on using my first name, which nobody does, it seems only fair that I call you by yours.”

  “
Forget it.”

  Never give one of them your full name, she remembered. Names were powerful things. Everyone on the squad knew this. It was one of the first lessons drilled into your head during training.

  He sighed a little and swatted at an invisible fly before crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I fail to see how I’m in the wrong here.” He eased back in his seat. The childish part of her considered shoving him so the chair would topple over. “I performed a service. I didn’t get my payment. Take it up with the Hamelin people. It’s not my fault if I was promised money I didn’t get.”

  Sitara kept her calm. “There are lawyers for that kind of problem. Most people don’t resort to kidnapping.”

  “Eh. The system doesn’t work too well for people like me. But you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

  His smile was intruding as a puff of smoke. Her lungs tightened, and she struggled to keep her secrets from creeping up on her face.

  He tilted his head at her, fingertips still dancing on the table. There was, she thought, a sort of twisted elegance to him, a magnetism that made her wonder if his flute was needed for people to follow him at all.

  “Tell me your name,” he said.

  She shot back, “Tell me where the children are.”

  He grinned. “Your name’s not worth that much.”

  “Then what’s worth it? What do you want?”

  “About a million things you can’t give me. Or won’t.”

  “You’ve been offered money, if I recall. Or is your memory faulty?”

  “Interest rate goes up, darling, and I don’t like being swindled. That puts a price on top of a heavy fare. I got those winged rodents out of their city, and I doubt they could afford my fare in the first place. In fact, there’s probably not enough money in their town or yours to convince me.”

  “And how about immunity? We could offer you that. If you cooperate.”

  “Ha! Immunity. Good one. One, I don’t trust their kind to hold up that bargain. Two, you assume they could keep me locked up if I didn’t want to be here. That’s not the case.”

  The barest hint of a smug smile touched her lips. “We caught you this time, didn’t we? Even if you escape, we could do it again.”

  His laugh was the response to a challenge she hadn’t meant to issue. “Maybe I let you catch me. Maybe I’m just where I want to be. Sitting across from the loveliest detective in the squad.”

  “Flirting will get you nowhere.”

  “Flirting got me plenty of places, actually. But sometimes, I just do it for fun.”

  Play along, a bone-rattling instinct screamed within her. Lure him in. You’re more dangerous than he realizes. You are shadow and blood and ice-blue fire, and he won’t know what hit him, and he’ll yield and plead and you’ll win it all.

  Sitara considered her options. She knew the specifics and rules of her job well. Her education had been thorough. Still, in practice, she’d found that one particular lesson often eclipsed the others.

  Fae-folk were unpredictable, volatile and ruthless. They had a tendency to change the rules and twist any situation to their advantage. A lot of the time, learned methods needed to be thrown out of the window.

  Improvisation was a skill that Sitara Galrind mastered.

  As tempting as it was to step into the web and tear it down from the inside, she ignored the impulse for now. “If you truly let us catch you, as you say, then that means you have a reason for being here.”

  He shrugged like an uncooperative teenage boy called out by an expectant teacher. “Even things like us get bored.”

  “Things like us?”

  “Yes. Like us. Beautiful anomalies.” His pupils had widened, turning his eyes almost black, like coal that blazed gold instead of red. Sitara’s heart gave an uneasy thump. “But since you found me with surprising ease, I figured I’d throw you a bone.”

  “How generous.”

  “Tell you what. We’ll play a game. An answer for an answer. Yes or no questions. You answer honestly, so will I. How about that, Detective?”

  Don’t play games with a Fae.

  She pictured Captain Jace stiffening behind the one-way mirror, muttering to herself, don’t you dare, Galrind. Don’t you fall for that trick...

  “Deal.”

  She half expected Jace’s voice to thunder through the speakers and summon her back to the other side of the mirror. It didn’t.

  Good. She’d already decided that she wouldn’t leave, not unless people came to drag her out of the room. She had the Pied Piper on a hook. The game would be of his making, but that didn’t mean she could not play to win.

  She knew what his first question would be before he spoke it.

  “Is your first name Sitara?”

  “Yes.” It was no surprise, that he’d know. Perhaps he’d known before they’d even met.

  He smiled. “Spells, that’s a pretty name. One of the Fae queens, if the old titles still apply, was called Sierra. It sounds like a note from a violin, I always thought. Yours is a bit harsher. It has a hint of bite, like you. How much do you know about the queens?”

  “I’m not answering any extra questions.”

  He nodded. “That’s fair. Your turn, Sitara.”

  He drew out her name like honey on his tongue.

  He was so easy to hate.

  Her pulse sped up with each second. “Are the children alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Her chest loosened in pure relief. “Are they...”

  “My turn.”

  She held her tongue. He studied her face for a long time, stretching out the seconds, his eyes surveying each detail of her expression- her set jaw, her withering glare, her tight mouth... He let his gaze linger on the last feature and licked his lips. Slow, suggestive. Deliberate.

  Sitara rolled her eyes.

  “Have you ever killed?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  Three times.

  First, there were the stories that people knew, two final and unforgettable shots that haunted some of her sleepless hours.

  But long before, there had been an accident, a nightmare of blue tendrils that swiveled and swirled and refused to relent.

  You’re a dead man, a teenage girl had said, and soon, the dead man had thudded on the floor.

  She didn’t let the covert memory throw her off track. “Have the children been harmed?”

  His lip twitched. “No.”

  “You promised honesty.”

  “I am honest. The children have not been harmed. Should you get them back, they’ll be good as new. Perhaps even better.”

  Her heart skipped at the last part. It was a clue. It meant something.

  If only he could be quiet for a second so her brain could work, then click, but he gave her no chance to reflect on the sentence.

  “Have you ever seen Mornreeve?”

  Her mind was still chasing after his previous words. She hoped that Captain Jace would pick up the thread.

  “Sitara.”

  “Sorry. Please, repeat the question.”

  He complied.

  Maddening visions of ivory-white buildings and onyx-black rooftops, glazed in dazzling moonlight, swarmed her mind. Like the stories about the Pied Piper, the many tales that spoke of Mornreeve scattered into a thousand directions. The descriptions agreed on its colors and its architecture, but when it came to its character, no accounts coincided. To some, Mornreeve was a nightmare that even daylight could not appease. To others, it was an endless pipe dream that rendered life on the human side tasteless and vapid, a memory that ached like a phantom limb.

  The only certainty was that Mornreeve changed whoever visited it. Once you saw the Fae City that sat on the frontier of the two worlds, you were never the same again.

  Sitara had once met a woman who’d lived there for a while, for fifteen days or a century, she’d said. She’d returned to the human world with the wildness of hungry animals in her gaze.

  Of Mornreeve, she’d
told Sitara this, “It is like an architect forced someone to stand on a ledge before a dizzying abyss of starlight, then pried that person open to take that vertigo and build a city from it.”

  That was how Sitara liked to picture it.

  She shook her head. “No. Is that where the children are? In Mornreeve?”

  The Pied Piper grinned like a child who’d found a ladybug on his windowsill. “Clever girl. Yes.”

  Sitara felt her stomach clench. Mornreeve was an odd, maddening territory that answered to neither Fae nor human laws. Her unit had no jurisdiction there. Mornreeve was untouchable, impregnable, and Fae-human relations were so strained that it would take a long time for them to get the children back.

  “Have you ever wanted to see it?” he asked. “Visit it?”

  He’d made honesty a requirement. “Yes.”

  She was thankful for the one-way mirror. She didn’t want to know what her colleagues thought of her answer.

  “Now, tell me the truth. Is there something other than money that would convince you to let them go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what it is.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not done playing yet.”

  “I am.”

  “But it was just getting interesting.” He folded his hands and leaned forward. Embers glinted in his eyes, flakes carved from the sharpest gold. “I have so many more questions.”

  “I have plenty for you as well.”

  “You want an answer, you need to give me one.”

  “No. I ask the questions here.”

  A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Don’t make yourself into a swindler, Sitara. We made a deal. Let’s not ruin a perfectly nice time. But if you want to forget about the Yes and No answers, fine, except it’s still my turn. Now, you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

  She threw him a withering glare. His mouth formed a perfect curve, a striking smile that quickened her heartbeat.

  “Tell me,” he said. “What do you feel, now, Sitara? Sitting here, in front of me. What do you think? Feel?”

  She adjusted her shirt collar in a mindless gesture. The fabric was cool against her moist fingertips. “That’s two different questions. Thinking and feeling are not the same.”