Rachel Hawkins - Grim

Which meant Beauty was trapped here, too.

But Beauty was trapped for only a year and a day, and the Chad was trapped here forever, a beast now, whatever he had been before, caught in a web of magic where he could never be happy and longing for home.

“If breaking the spell would hurt somebody else, it is noble of you to suffer yourself instead of inflicting suffering on others. You must miss the land of frat house very much.”

The Beast ducked his head, like a horse trying to escape the bridle. Beauty thought the gesture might almost have been shy.

“I miss my Xbox,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t really work the controller with the claws anyway.”

Beauty had no idea what the Beast was saying, but this much was clear: he was sad, and she could not simply care for his horses if she was going to wipe away the debt of her father’s life. If he was trapped in this body, in this castle, he needed help.

The next day the Beast took her on a tour around the castle. The kitchen, with its animated carving knives, was terrifying, and the portraits in the portrait gallery made creepy faces at them. None of that mattered when he opened the door and escorted her into the library, its curved walls shining with leather spines in green and black and red and brown and blue, stretching from ceiling to ceiling and from wall to wall, a treasure room better than one filled with gold and jewels.

“You like reading, huh?”

“I love reading!” Beauty exclaimed.

“I used to listen to audiobooks at the gym,” Chad said wistfully and incomprehensibly. “I’ve come in here and looked at the titles and stuff, but I don’t think it’d be a great idea for me to try and read the books.”

He waggled a demonstrative hand, claws outstretched, then bared his ferocious teeth, but only a little, in what Beauty thought was a sheepish grin.

“Would you like me to read to you?” she asked, and when he gave an embarrassed nod she took her time selecting the right one. “This is my favorite kind of book,” she told him at last. “There are daring sword fights, magic spells and a hero in disguise.”

“Like you?” said Chad, and when Beauty was shocked silent he scratched the ruff of fur on the back of his neck. “Well, you know, coming to be a stable boy when you’re obviously...not really raised to be a stable boy? That’s kind of a disguise. And it was heroic of you, to do it for your dad.”

“Oh,” said Beauty. She had never thought of herself in that way before—as someone who could be the center of a story. She dropped her gaze to the book and began to read, hiding her smile.

A few days, a few quiet story hours and a few lively dinners later, Beauty rode one of the horses down to the village near the castle. She alighted from the horse and went into the nearest shop.

Being able to ride down a lane and not have anyone comment on her beauty, or her lack of chaperone, having everyone ignore her as if she was just a person free to do whatever she chose, gave Beauty an unexpected and heady sense of freedom.

“I want to purchase some saddle brushes, preferably not animated,” she announced. “Oh, and I am employed as a stable boy in the castle of the Beast.”

Beauty wondered if the woman leaning her elbows against the shop counter might scream and faint at the name: she was disappointed when the woman did not even raise her eyebrows.

“I’d forgotten we have a new beast. Stable boys are different, mind.”

“A new beast?” Beauty asked. “There have been others.”

“It is a tale as old as time,” said the woman. “There’s bound to be a few variations. Be a waste of the castle to have just one beast. There was an original beast, obviously. Prince of the castle, turned into a beast because of his vanity and pride, lessons learned through love, et cetera, but since then we have been importing beasts. The witch takes young spoiled princes from many lands, but the beast always lives here.”

The woman chatted idly as she fetched down the saddle brushes, with the slightly bored air of someone who would rather be discussing the weather.

“So your village lies in the shadow of a castle in which there is always a beast, punished for his misdeeds by being trapped in the body of a ferocious killing machine? Pardon me for asking,” said Beauty, “but do you never consider moving?”

The woman sniffed. “Certainly not. We have an excellent tourist trade.”

“Fair enough,” said Beauty. “Everybody has to pay the bills. I suppose the tourists would flock here if there was a chance of actually seeing the Beast, and going into the magical castle.”

“Tourists who get eaten do not tell all their friends about our fair town,” the shopkeeper snapped.

“Chad would never!”

The shopkeeper’s eyebrows rose with such velocity Beauty thought her ruffled cap might pop right off.

“Is that the way it is?”

“What?” asked Beauty. “Is what the way what is? Look, all I’m saying is, we’d be open to having a fete up at the Beast’s castle. There could be bunting, and...food served outside, and games for all the family....”

Beauty racked her brains for another suggestion.

“Some sort of gay parade, I have no doubt?” the woman asked.

“Yes!” Beauty exclaimed, pleased that she was getting into the spirit of things. “A merry parade would be lovely.”

The shopkeeper still looked skeptical.

“You could charge at the gate,” Beauty said. “Just think about it.”

She rode away home and at dinner that night described her adventure to the Chad.

“So you’re saying that you bought saddle brushes and also invited the village to a kegger at our place?” Chad asked. “My man! Give me five.”

Beauty gave him a stare of blank incomprehension.

The living furniture seemed initially puzzled and then very excited about the party at the castle. The table and chairs for outside started holding what Beauty thought were practice drills, and Chad spent his time pleading with them. “Play dead for the guests!”

Beauty was surprised she was not more nervous herself. But she was the stable boy: she would have practical things to do and get to wear comfortable clothes. Nobody would expect her to be charming or ornamental, just useful.

She put ribbons in the trees, since Chad could not be trusted with ribbons. After a while, the ribbons got the idea and started to twine about in the branches themselves.

The day of the Beast’s fete dawned clear and bright, and the shopkeeper Beauty had spoken to, whose name turned out to be Aimee, arrived not long after. She was carrying a plate full of pastries.

“Welcome to the castle,” said Beauty.

“Yeah, uh, mi casa es su casa, ” said the Beast.

The woman sniffed.

“That had better not be foreign for ‘I am going to eat your children.’ Well, lead me to the refreshments. It was a long walk and I could use a restorative beverage.”

“Of course, perhaps lemonade?” Beauty suggested.

“Dude, I think she means booze.”

Aimee favored Chad with a smile. “Escort me to the sherry, sir, and no clawing the tapestries on the way.”

Curiosity apparently trumped fear of being mauled and eaten, because most of the village showed up. A set of instruments crept out from the music room and played in the rose garden, lurking behind bushes so nobody would notice the lack of actual musicians, and the villagers started to dance around the lawn.

Beauty had never been to a dance before where she did not have to dance or worry about not being asked. She hummed as she cleared the tables to make way for the desserts.

“This was a nice idea,” said Aimee the shopkeeper behind her, and she jingled her box of change. “And I’m turning a nice profit, too, of course,” she added almost absently. “Quite a nice young beast, too. Much preferable to the last one. It was nothing but brood, brood, brood on the battlements in the rain all day long. The castle smelled like wet dog for seventy years.”