Beauty’s Beast Chapter 6

Welcome to Beauty’s Beast, book 3 in the Black Trans Fairy Tales series. This novella is releasing one chapter/week on the blog ahead of publication.

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Lumière found Belle at the doorway to the arboretum, the face on his center candlestick serious and his manner more subdued than the singing she saw earlier. He rotated his candle hands around each other, extinguishing their flames.

Belle carefully folded her dress under her knees as she knelt to speak with with him. “Quinn spends most of their time here, don’t they?”

Lumière nodded. “You’ve heard of the curse, of course,” he waved an arm at himself. “It happened here in the arboretum at the height of the party.” Lumière grabbed Belle’s hand with his unlit handles, his voice pleading. “You have to understand, the heir was a different person back then. Protected by their parents. And yes, arrogant. We all are at that age, aren’t we? Thinking we know better than our elders?” He shook his head and gazed out into the arboretum with heavy shoulders. “A witch came to the door in the storm. I remember he… well he had an unfortunate look. I escorted him to the sitting room but after several hours he entered the arboretum unannounced.”

Lumière turned away from Belle, his voice even softer. “Quinn had no use for the man and took offense at the interruption. He refused the witch safe harbor in the storm. And the witch did this.” He gestured weakly at Quinn in the arboretum, their broad shoulders slumped and head bowed.

“It was chaos at first. A lot of fear and confusion. Many years of research after that. But the curse is quite simple. Quinn must find love inside themself before the last fruit of the quince tree falls or the transformation for all of us is permanent.”

Belle put her hand on Lumière’s shoulder. “It is clear to me that you love them.”

Lumière turned, grabbing Belle’s hand again. “That isn’t enough, mon cher. Quinn must learn to love themslf, but they’re too full of anger and guilt. Who wouldn’t be when every room is a reminder of what they’ve lost—of what their arrogance did to the entire house?” Lumière sighed. “Most of us do not blame them anymore. But they must learn to forgive themself.” He looked up at Belle. “A task for which, I fear, we are running out of time.”

Belle stood, brushing dust from her dress. “Well, we can all start by having some lunch together.”
She entered the arboretum. Behind her, Lumière hopped a few steps after her, hissing, “Wait, no! Belle don’t approach.”

But no one stood up out of a deep depression without help. It felt impossible to take action stuck at the bottom of that kind of well, even if they knew friends were waiting at the top. It took more than good wishes and hope.

It took someone reaching down into the hole, grasping their hand, and saying You’re not alone. Let me show you.

Belle could be that person.

Quinn had saved her father’s life, had stood up against Gaston and come away scarred. They had lived here for years, watching over her as she read in the courtyard down below.

These were acts worth celebrating.

Belle watched Quinn seated under the pergola, their breathing shallow, their eyes dull and unfocused. Hooved feet were tucked under shaggy furred legs and their hands rested on their thighs. If Belle didn’t know better, she would have thought Quinn was meditating. The pose looked restful.

Belle walked across the dirt-strewn tiles quietly, her house slip-ons flexible on the bottom and soft around her feet. The dress Madam Armoire had given her flared around her ankles as she gained confidence. She’d ask Quinn to lunch with her, even if it meant having the meal brought here to the arboretum. And then they’d have a chance to talk about whatever came to mind. Belle was good at asking questions and listening. She could do this.

Broken tile crunched under her foot as she approached the pergola. Quinn’s head snapped up and their eyes focused on her. The drifting gaze was gone, instead a flinty, dark-eyed stare pinned Belle in place and she froze mid-step. Her skin prickled. A sense of danger kept her still as she frantically tried to assess what had gone wrong.

Quinn’s lip pulled back, exposing long, sharp teeth that didn’t match their goat-like face. They were more like fangs from a cat. As long as her palm.

Belle decided not to get closer. She stood straight and cleared her throat. “Quinn, I’d like to invite you to lunch,” she said, injecting confidence into her voice that had started to waver.

Quinn’s lip pulled back further, wrinkling their entire muzzle. Their hanging ears drew back against their head and the collar of lion mane around their shoulders and chest fluffed up large. They lifted their hands and signed, the gesture hard. Belle didn’t know enough vocabulary to understand the words, but the tone was clear. Quinn wasn’t pleased to see her.

Belle stiffened her spine against the urge to flee. Quinn had allowed her to help yesterday. She wouldn’t be intimidated by their grouchy mood today.

“It doesn’t need to be fancy lunch. I’d just like to talk with you a little.”

Quinn surged to their hooves in a burst of motion, three powerful steps shaking the tiles as they charged to the edge of the pergola.

Belle stumbled backward, her heart seizing in alarm and landed on her butt.

Quinn grabbed one of the pergola’s legs, leaning out of the frame as they roared.

The sound shook the glass and rattled the tiles.

Belle scrambled onto her feet and ran. Fear pushed tears out of her eyes. She darted out the door and past Lumière who reached out with his candle-hands and called her name, but she didn’t stop.

Belle ran right up the stairs and back to her father’s room. The breakfast and the cart were gone. Her father sat up in bed, reading a newspaper. She burst inside, slamming the door behind her, and dove into his bed where she could curl up and shake as the fear squeezed her from the inside out.

Her father gathered her close and pet her hair, whispering words Belle couldn’t hear in her panic.

She hadn’t heeded Lumière’s warning and nearly paid the price.

Quinn wouldn’t hurt her, she knew.

But the creature in the arboretum had not been Quinn. There hadn’t been intelligence behind those dark eyes.

Just the snarling anger of a beast.