The Beast looked devastated as he said these words. Belle’s eyes traveled to Cogsworth’s face, then Lumiere’s, Mrs. Potts’s, Plumette’s. They all looked devastated.
A small sniffle was heard. Then another.
It was Chip.
“No!” Belle whispered. “Please, Chip…please don’t cry!”
“Why did Belle want to leave, Mama? Was she so unhappy with us?” he asked.
Mrs. Potts, infinitely gentle with her young son, said, “Hush, my darling. We mustn’t cry for ourselves.”
“I’m not. I’m crying for Belle. Because her heart was hurting.”
Belle leaned her forehead against the cold page. Her heart was doing more than hurting; it was breaking.
She felt terrible—because she’d hurt Chip and all the others, but also because Chip was right.
“I was unhappy. I did want to leave,” she whispered. “And now all I want is to be back with you.”
The Beast gently laid her blue ribbon on the desk. Watching him do it was like a knife to her heart. It felt final. Irrevocable. Like throwing a handful of dirt on a coffin.
Belle wished she’d never laid eyes on Nevermore. She remembered how excited she’d been when she first discovered it, when she’d first stepped through its pages. The girl who had ventured into that book had fallen for an easy escape. She’d believed that a pretty, perfect, unreal world was preferable to the hard, messy, real one.
“But it’s not,” she said now.
She missed the real world desperately, even with all of its difficulties. And she missed the ones who lived in it. As her gaze traveled over the faces on the other side, she realized that it wasn’t only a person’s strengths but their flaws, that made them truly beautiful.
What would Chip be without his chip? The chunk missing from his rim only made him sweeter. And Cogsworth? His constant fretting and hand-wringing could be so irritating at times, but it was only his blustery way of showing concern for those he loved.
And the Beast…the Beast.
Belle saw now that his gruff, sometimes-frightening exterior masked a kind and loyal heart. He would give his life to save her if he could.
“Beast,” she whispered.
As if he’d heard her, he walked up to Nevermore. His eyes traveled over it, searching—Belle knew—for a glimpse of her. He pressed a paw against its hard surface. Belle fit her hand to its outline.
“Beast,” she cried. “Oh, Beast.”
She wanted to be with him—with all of them. But it was too late. She’d gotten the bracelet, the handkerchief, and the coin back, but it was all for nothing. The passageway between the Beast’s castle and Nevermore was sealed.
Desperate, Belle slapped her hands against the pages. As she did, she realized that her skin was almost completely covered with words.
“No!” she cried. Her time was almost up.
She slapped the page again, trying one last time to make the Beast see her.
“Save your breath, my dear. He can’t see or hear you,” said a voice from behind her.
Belle’s stomach plunged with fear. She slowly turned around.
And faced the countess.
STICKY SKEINS OF SPIDER SILK hung from the countess’s black gown. Moonlight glimmered in her cold, green eyes. She and her lions had come out of the maze, too. They were a good ten yards away, but getting closer with every step.
“This game grows tedious,” the countess said. She thrust out a pale hand, her nails curved like claws. “Give me the bracelet, the handkerchief, and the necklace. Now.”
Belle shook her head.
The countess laughed. It sounded like wind whistling through a graveyard. A shutter banging. Footsteps in the dark.
“My dear, you do not want to make me any angrier than I already am. Trust me on that.”
Belle turned and threw herself at Nevermore with all her might. “Mrs. Potts! Lumiere!” she shouted. “Help! It’s me, Belle!”
She hammered on the page with her fists, slapped it with her palms. And all the while, the countess moved closer.
“Because of you, this game was trickier than I thought it would be,” she said. “And yet, what fun is any game without a challenge? I can’t wait to see my sister’s face when I tell her I won.”
“Cogsworth, please! Can’t you see me?”
A movement on her right side caught Belle’s eye. She turned her head, fearing it was the countess, but it was Lucanos, circling madly.
“Use your heart, Belle!” he shouted.
What did he mean? The countess was only steps away. How would Belle’s heart help defeat her?
“Your heart, Belle!” the beetle shouted again. “Your heart!”
The beetle was close now, and pointing frantically at her chest. Belle looked down and caught her breath. The glass heart, the one the Beast had given her, looked as if it were ablaze. Now that Belle was out of the shadowy maze, moonbeams were shining down directly on the heart, refracting into a million points of light.
Astonished, Belle saw that it wasn’t plain glass as she’d thought, or even fine crystal, but diamond.
Belle knew that there was nothing harder. She remembered that her father used a diamond-tipped tool to cut tiny windows for his music boxes from sheets of glass.
Belle yanked the jewel from her neck. Using the heart like a blade, she drew it down the length of Nevermore’s page and opened a long, rippling gash.
As she did, she heard a shriek of fury. She knew without looking that the countess was only a few yards behind her.
She turned. “Lucanos…Aranae…” she said, with a choked cry.
“Go!” Lucanos bellowed.
“Thank you…thank you,” Belle said.
The countess lunged, her clawed hand outstretched, but her fingers closed on air.
Belle was gone.
STARS WERE THE FIRST thing Belle saw.
They exploded like fireworks behind her eyes.
Then she saw feathers. The base of a teapot. Golden feet. Furry feet.
I’m here! she thought. I’m home!
Belle had launched herself back through Nevermore with such force, she’d lost her footing and tumbled headfirst into the library. She was lying facedown on the floor now, grateful for the plush rug.
“Belle!” a voice cried. Others joined in.
“You came back!”
“We were so worried!”
She felt the Beast’s paws helping her up. As she stood on her feet again, her eyes fell on Nevermore, standing open in the room.
“Close it! Please!” she begged, fearing the countess would come through it after her.
“We will, Belle. Don’t worry,” Lumiere said, hurrying to the book. He pushed against the cover, and it swung shut with a bang. The book began to shrink.
Belle looked at her hands. The print that had covered them was gone.
A ragged sigh of relief escaped her. “I’m here! I’m alive!” she said. She turned to Lumiere and hugged him. “I thought I’d never see you again!”
She hugged Cogsworth, too, and Mrs. Potts and Plumette. She picked up little Chip and kissed him, then patted Froufrou.
“Where’s…” she started to ask, looking for the Beast.
She spotted him standing in a corner of the room, hanging back, uncertain.
Belle took a step toward him, then another, and then threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “I couldn’t get back here. I tried and tried,” she said, her voice catching. “Your heart…the one you gave me…that’s how I finally got out. It saved me. Without it, without you…I never would have made it.”
“Shh, Belle. It’s all right. You found your way. That’s all that matters,” the Beast whispered, holding her tightly.
Belle nodded. After a moment, when she’d hugged him hard enough and long enough to convince herself that he was real, she released him.
Seeing tears on her cheeks, the Beast wiped them away with the back of his furry paw.
; “Oh!” Belle said, wincing. It was like having her cheeks scrubbed with a shoe brush.
“Ahem.”
It was Lumiere. “If I may…” He was holding out a handkerchief.
Belle took it from him and patted her cheeks dry.
“I think a nice pot of tea and a plate of toasted cheese sandwiches are precisely what’s required. I’ll bring them to the drawing room. Cogsworth will arrange for a lovely fire for you there. Won’t you, Cogsworth?”
“Now, I don’t see what all the kerfuffle is about. She’s back and clearly—” Cogsworth began.
Mrs. Potts glared.
“I mean, I will! Right away.”
The servants hurried out of the library, leaving the Beast and Belle alone.
“Goodness me!” whispered Mrs. Potts as soon as they were out of the Beast’s earshot. “Wiping the poor girl’s face with the back of his paw…I mean, really!” She sighed. “I despair sometimes. Are we ever going to civilize our master?”
“At least he didn’t lick her face. That’s something,” Plumette whispered back, giggling.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t carry her to the drawing room by the scruff of her neck!” Mrs. Potts added, laughing herself now.
“There’s hope,” Lumiere said, his flames brightening. “For Belle. For the master. For all of us.”
“There’s always hope,” said Cogsworth sagely. “Why, did I ever tell you about the time Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick tried to drive the maréchal de Broglie out of Westphalia? It was during the battle of Bergen. Things looked dire indeed. The Hessians had us surrounded….”
Mrs. Potts and Plumette traded exasperated glances, then hurried down the stairs as fast as they could. Chip, Froufrou, and Lumiere followed them. Cogsworth, seemingly unaware that his audience had disappeared, continued to hold forth.
Back in the library, Belle cupped her elbows. She was trying to work up her courage.
“Shall we go to the drawing room? Or do you not want toasted cheese sandwiches?” the Beast asked Belle.
“I can’t even tell you how badly I want them,” Belle replied. “But there’s something I need to do first.”
Nevermore had shrunk down to its normal size. Though Belle was afraid of it, she made herself pick it up. Then she crossed the room, to the passage leading into the library, and opened one of the windows along the hall. A brisk, icy wind swirled in.
She held the book for a long moment, her head bent. She silently thanked Lucanos and Aranae, wherever they might be. She promised Otto that she would never forget him. And she remembered the comtesse des Terres des Morts, shivering at how close she’d come to letting that dark figure finish her story before it had even begun.
Then, Belle flung the book out of the window. The wind pounced. It grabbed Nevermore, tore its pages loose, and carried them away.
Belle slammed the window shut and turned around. Her chest was heaving. Her cheeks were pink from the wind. Her hair was wild.
The Beast pulled her blue ribbon from his breast pocket. He handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it. She tried to tie her hair back with it, but her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn’t.
The Beast noticed. His eyes, worried but warm and kind, sought hers. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked, taking her hands to steady them.
“It’s such a strange tale, I’m not sure you’d believe me.”
The Beast laughed. “I just might. I have some acquaintance with strange things, you know.”
Belle gave him a rueful smile. She looked down at her hands in his paws.
“Belle? What’s wrong?” the Beast asked.
“It doesn’t always go so well when you and I try to talk, does it?”
The Beast shook his head. “No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “I’m not much of a communicator. In fact, I don’t have much practice in being a perfect friend. Or a friend at all, really.”
Belle thought about her “perfect” friends within Nevermore. The countess and her dazzling guests. Mouchard. Professore Truffatore, Henri.
“Neither do I. You may not be a ‘perfect friend,’” she said. “But you’re a real one. And I’m lucky to have you.”
The Beast smiled. He squeezed her hands. “Can we keep trying, Belle? Would you give me another chance?”
Belle smiled.
She squeezed back.
And decided that she would.
IN THE HOLLOW TRUNK of an ancient willow tree, near a clear, rushing stream, Love and Death played their eternal game.
Love was mistress of the willow, and any mortal who sat down beneath its softly sighing branches, no matter how weary or without hope, found his heart full and his spirit restored.
She and Death sat in chairs woven of branches. A large speckled toadstool served as their table. Fireflies hovered in the air above them, illuminating the deep night.
Their chessboard was made of obsidian and bone. Insects were the chess pieces.
“It’s your move,” Death said, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.
“Yes, I know,” said Love.
“We don’t have all night,” said Death.
“You can’t hurry love,” said Love.
A moment later, her queen—a praying mantis—ate one of Death’s pawns—a plump yellow caterpillar.
“How was your trip to Venice?” Love asked as Death contemplated the board.
“Productive. The outbreak was rather severe, I’m happy to say,” Death replied. “Ten thousand gone in a week—a personal best. I brought you some candy.”
Love smiled. “Did you bring me three million louis d’or?”
“No,” replied Death. “Why would I? You haven’t won the wager.”
“I’m going to, though,” said Love confidently.
Death frowned. She nudged her knight—a grasshopper—forward. It bit the head off Love’s rook—a moth.
“I always win,” said Love.
Death sat back in her chair and regarded her sister. “Has anyone ever told you that it’s rude to brag?”
“The Beast is learning to care for others,” Love said. “His heart aches over what he’s done. He’s learning to love. Belle is teaching him. He would die for that girl.”
“Would he?” Death asked. “I’d be happy to arrange it.”
Love ignored the dark jest. “The Beast will love, and be loved in return, before the last petal on the enchanted rose falls. Wait and see.”
Death shook her head. “Once again, you fail to see the bigger question: Will Belle learn to love the Beast?”
“She will. She is. They’re becoming friends. That’s the first step.”
“Don’t be so certain. The story’s not over. Much can still go wrong,” said Death. “And if the human heart is involved, much will.”
“I’m hopeful,” said Love.
“Fools always are,” sighed Death. She nodded at the board. “It’s your move.”
Love turned her attention back to the chessboard, determination etched on her face. Death sat forward, her brow knit in concentration.
Attacks and counterattacks, binds and blockades, feints and ripostes followed as the sisters vied to win.
Beneath the canopy of night, into the clear light of morning, the brightness of daytime, and the softly falling dusk, the hours passed.
From long, long ago to forevermore, Love and Death played on.
JENNIFER DONNELLY is an award-winning, best-selling author of books for young adults and adults, including the Waterfire Saga: Deep Blue, Rogue Wave, Dark Tide, and Sea Spell. Her other young adult novels include These Shallow Graves, Revolution, and A Northern Light, winner of Britain’s prestigious Carnegie Medal, the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for Young Adult Literature, and a Michael L. Printz Honor. She has also written Humble Pie, a picture book; and the adult novels The Tea Rose, The Winter Rose, and The Wild Rose. She lives in New York’s Hudson Valley. You can visit her at jenniferdonnelly.com, or on Facebook, Twitter, and Instag
ram @jenwritesbooks.
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