Chapter 12: The Spell
"Isa? Isabel?" A man called to me, his voice a soft breath on the lilac scented wind.
I sat beneath the garden's large oak, the garden's lush grasses and shrubbery bathed in the vibrant colors of the sunset. I struggled with the exuberant skirts of the blue and silver ball gown as I climbed onto my feet. I could see the shadowed form of a man standing by the statue of Hades and Persephone. His back was to me as he admired the statue. Again I heard him calling, "Isa? Isabel? Where are you?"
I ran towards him, my feet striding across the lawn, intent on their destination. My racing heart urged me forward. I was compelled by a rush of urgency. I must reach this man, whoever he may be.
As I drew closer to him, I came to recognize his silhouette more and more. I recognized the broad shoulders and the golden blond of his hair. He was human, as he had appeared once before, but he looked different. His hair was shorter and his beard had been shaven. He turned his head towards me and I saw that he wore a black mask that covered his face from his nose to his hairline. Only his mouth remained uncovered. His eyes shone at me with their silvery sheen from the mask's empty eyes. He wore the servants' black and white uniform. It was disheveled. The pants and jacket were wrinkled and the white shirt's collar was unbuttoned. There was a rip over his heart and there it was stained crimson. "You came back." He shuttered, stepping out of the shadow cast by the statue. He was unnaturally pale, his lips almost a shade of blue.
"I never left." I breathed, sucking air through my mouth as I tried to register his appearance. Reaching towards me, he tried to take another step forward but instead crumpled into the grass.
"Christopher!" I screamed falling to my knees by his side. "What happened to you!" I cried, tears falling onto his black mask. "Did Rosalyn do this?" I demanded, patting his cheek to keep him awake. His eyes were rolling around in his head; their silver irises fading in color as they took on the milky sheen of death.
"No." He whispered, his breath barely audible over my sobbing. He stared up at me, his rolling eyes fixating on my face. He reached up to touch my cheek with his freezing fingertips. "You did."
I looked at him in confusion at first, but when I looked down at myself I saw that my hands and the front of the beautiful ball gown were drenched in his blood. I did this. I did this to him. He let out a shuttering breath and went limp in my arms. I killed the beast.
I awoke flailing around in my bed like a landed fish. I screamed and unceremoniously rolled off of the bed, landing painfully on my back. The wind was knocked out of me and I laid there gasping for air. I stared up at the ceiling, mentally giving thanks to God that that was only a dream.
"Did you have a nightmare, Dear?" A woman with pale gold hair and empty eyes leaned over me. She smiled gleefully at me. "I love those. Dreams fade away from your memory, easily forgotten, but nightmares you always remember."
"Rosalyn." Her name spat from my mouth like a curse.
"Don't look at me like that. You're the one who asked me to come. You are to be my apprentice, remember?" She sighed as if bored with this whole venture and sat at the edge of my bed.
I dragged myself shakily up from the floor as I tried and miserably failed to hide my contempt. "I agreed to learn from you. That doesn't mean I have to stop hating you." I said and was somewhat startled by the growling nature of my voice.
"True enough." She muttered, brushing idly at the skirt of her black dress. "I hate this ugly thing." She huffed, making a sour face.
"Then why wear it?" I growled, retreating to my wardrobe to find something for myself to wear.
"Believe me; this thing would not have ever seen the light of day, if I didn't have to attend a funeral today. Poor Elizabeth, God rest her soul." She said without much feeling. The words reeked of blasphemy.
My hands stilled where they were fumbling with my dresses. A chill swept down my spine. "Elizabeth is dead?" I asked, remembering Ashton's young wife. She had acted so odd at the New Year's party, almost like she were already drunk or half out of her mind. She hadn't seen Christopher as he truly was and was stumbling all over the place, yet her husband had steadily supplied her with more drink.
"Yes, seems she took a nasty fall from her balcony. Poor thing, I told her that the bottle would be her down fall." Rosalyn smiled with pleasure.
"I'm sure Ashton is heartbroken." I spat sarcastically. I was fairly certain that Elizabeth didn't fall because of too much wine, but rather a pair of helping hands.
"He's dealing with his grief remarkably well, he's already got his heart set on another young lady." She said.
"Who would that be?"
She gawked at me in mock surprise, "Isabel, I'm surprised that you have not noticed his great affection for you. He finds you quite beautiful. You remind him of your mother, I think. She was the one and only girl who ever broke his heart."
"Forgive me, if I do not fill pity for the man who tried to kill my mother." I huffed. I felt very strange whenever Rosalyn was in my presence. I usually had a good, calm nature, but whenever she was around I became instantly hostile. It wasn't a feeling I enjoyed.
"He didn't try to kill your mother. He loved her dearly. No, it was your father he tried to kill." She corrected me. As if it mattered. A horrified look crossed her too perfect face when I drew the black dress Christopher had given me from my wardrobe. "Don't you dare wear that dreadful color!" She hissed, snatching the dress from me and shoving it back into the wardrobe. "Black is for old widows!" I frowned irritably at the familiar words. Christopher had the same prejudice against black dresses on young girls. I wondered what else he had learned from his mistress.
Rosalyn reached into the very back of the wardrobe and brought out the extravagant blue and silver gown with the sapphire buckled shoes. "Here," she ordered, a sickeningly sweet smile curving her lips. "This will do."
"But we're only having lessons." I argued. "I'm learning how to cast spells, not how to waltz."
She tapped my nose playfully with a sharp nailed fingertip. "A girl never misses an opportunity to beguile male suitors, my dear." She giggled.
A shutter rolled through me along with the realization that Ashton most likely would make an appearance. She was gussying me up for her son.
I bit my tongue to fend off the slew of insults and profanity that was bubbling up my throat as Rosalyn dressed me in my finest clothes and jewels as if I were a doll. She primped and pampered me, molding me into the resemblance of a proper lady, but I felt like anything but a lady. I felt like a cow being led to the slaughter. She was encouraging Ashton's interest in me, encouraging him in his attempted seduction. Now that his wife was dead, I feared his attempts would grow more and more persistent.
Finally, she finished powdering my face and allowed me to leave the room. She led me down to the dining room. I was unsurprised to see Ashton sitting idly at the table. He was leaning back onto the back legs of his chair with his feet propped up on the table. He wasn't wearing his usual formal black suit. He wore no jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves were rolled over his elbows. He bit loudly into a shiny red apple and smacked his lips as he ate it. In all the times I had met him before, I had never seen this version of him. He was almost childlike.
"Miss Isabel is ready to begin her lessons." Rosalyn announced. She seemed to glide to her chair at the head of the table. I did not hear the tapping of her heels on the floorboards underfoot.
"Isabel!" Ashton bellowed with his cheeks filled with apple. He audibly swallowed, gulping down his food. He leapt up from his chair and pulled out the one beside him for me. "Forgive my appearance." He apologized, self-consciously brushing the front of his somewhat wrinkled shirt. "It has been a tiring day and the weather is unnaturally warm. It feels like late spring, rather than mid-winter."
Rebelliously, I plopped down in the chair furthest away from him.
"You still don't like me, do you?" He chuckled, his eyes sparking with the fires of challenge. "We will see how long that lasts. I'm going to make it my personal mission to change your opinion of me. After all, if a beast can earn your affections, I certainly can."
"I'm afraid you do not process half the charm he does." I responded smugly with a smirk. He merely smiled his devil's smile, eyes still burning like smoldering coals.
"Stop you're chattering. We have a lesson to begin." Said Rosalyn. She moved her hands over the table in a motion that resembled the opening of a book and a thick book took form where her hands glided through the air. It landed on the table with a loud "thunk."
The sight of the book with its weathered leather cover and yellowed pages made a surge of fear race through me. I was at once panicked and strangely excited. "Can I have a moment to check on Christopher?" I asked, desperate to flee. I was frightened by those feelings. The promise I made to myself to not give in, to not become like the other Crafts, was a thousand times more daunting as I stared at that book with fingertips that burned with the power that was now stirring just beneath the surface.
"I have already dealt with him. His wounds are perfectly healed. He's in the garden now. I have him putting up a new trellis." Said Rosalyn without looking up from the book. She was absently flipping through its pages, trying to find a suitable spell for us to begin with.
I was surprised that she would heal him, given that it was she that hurt him to begin with, but I bit my tongue and did not ask her any further questions about it. Christopher was her tool and she would have no use for him if he were broken.
"I believe we should begin with the very basics." She pointed towards me and a copy of the original book appeared before me on the table. Off to the side, a stack of blank paper floated down to the table along with a quill and a vial of ink. "In order to cast a spell, you first need to learn how to read it. The books are written in a code of the Crafts' own devising. I will provide you with the translations for most of the symbols."
"Mother, let's start with the spell for endless sleep." Ashton recommended. His smile broadened at my furious glare.
Rosalyn laughed coldly, "Ashton, you are far too cruel. Let us not remind the little orphan of her dead mother." She said jeeringly. They both grinned at me with their black eyes and too wide grins. Ashton's teeth appeared sharper than they should be. I became cold. My skin felt like ice. A mixture of hatred and fear settled heavily in my gut. I felt as though I were staring into the faces of wolves; wolves with a taste for human flesh and blood. "We will begin with the spell for metamorphosis. Perhaps Isabel can change Christopher into a pig. It would be a marvelous improvement."
Yes! This is what I want! Teach me the right spell, you fools! Help me free my friend so that I may ruin you! I thought victoriously. The voice in my head was wicked and sounded far too much like Rosalyn. My fear doubled, despite the smile I was fighting desperately to suppress.
Ashton and I were silent while Rosalyn went through the symbols one by one. She interpreted each and allowed me to write the translations down for reference. All the while I had to bite my inner cheek to keep a grin off my face. They had no idea they were helping me to defeat them. They would soon realize their error when Christopher and I left this place hand in hand. Perhaps we would set fire to the mansion before we left. I was certain that Christopher would love to watch it burn. I certainly would. This evil infested place needed to be consumed in hellfire to cleanse it of the Crafts' poisonous taint.
The translations took some time and by the time she finished, my hands were cramped and my fingers were painful to bend.
"We will take a break here, for now. I am famished." Rosalyn whined childishly. She snapped her fingers, ordering a servant to come to her. "Bring us some tea and sandwiches please…oh, and some chocolate tarts." She added, squirming around in her seat like a five year old. She looked as excited about the prospect of chocolate as I would be getting a new pet.
"I'll have some wine." Ashton ordered.
While they were busy with their orders, I discreetly brought my notes into my lap, folded the paper and tucked it into the wrist of my gloves. Christopher's spell was already hidden away in my bodice. "Have the servants deliver mine in the garden, please. I could use some fresh air." I said as I rose from my chair and stretched my arms a bit.
"Of course, do as you like, Dear." Rosalyn chirped pleasantly.
"Go ahead." Ashton waved me away. He rested his chin on his knuckles, looking very bored. His eyelids drooped over his eyes with exhaustion.
I was stunned by their eagerness to let me leave. I had expected them to demand that I stay. I did not linger to wait for them to change their minds. I walked briskly out of the house and broke into a near run as soon as I was outside. Though I tried my best to keep the skirt of the ball gown clean by hiking it up over my knees in a very unladylike fashion, most of it still trailed behind me and was dragged across the lawn. My lips stretched painfully into the biggest smile I think I've ever worn. "Christopher!" I called to him with a shrieking voice. I didn't see him anywhere among the roses, so I made my way towards his tool shed. There, I found him kneeling by the side of it, looking into a dugout space beneath the shed. To my surprise, Foxy was with him. She too was looking curiously into the opening, making a little whining noise.
"What are you doing?" I asked, dropping my skirt, so that it covered my legs once again.
"Come look at this." He said in a hushed voice and waved me over. I knelt down, completely disregarding the well fare of my dress, and peered inside. From within the darkness, stared two sets of eyes. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I made out two wiggly forms covered with fur and small, angular ears. I could hear them, mewing insistently for their mother.
"Kittens!" I gasped and giggled happily.
"Seems a stray cat got through the gate and made herself at home." Christopher chuckled. "We might be trapped here, but the animals can come and go as they please. Do you like them?" He asked.
"Of course! They are very cute, but I have something even better than kittens." My grin turned sly as I pulled my notes from my glove. "I have the translations I needed for your curse. I can undo it! You're going to be free, Christopher!"
Christopher suddenly became unsteady and fell back into the grass as his eyes stared at the piece of paper in my hand with a look of horror. "She gave you the translations? Just like that?" He asked, his voice trembling.
"Rosalyn's not as smart as she thinks she is." I smirked. Ripping the torn spell book page from its hiding place in my bodice, I prepared to translate the curse. My heart pounded with elation. Christopher's years of captivity and loneliness were over. I would be the one to set him free and ultimately save his life and both our souls.
"Wait." Christopher suddenly clasped his big hand over my mouth, silencing me before I could utter a syllable. "I don't think this is a good idea, Isabel. There's something not right about this."
I impatiently swiped his hand away from my face. "I know you don't trust her. I don't either. She may very well have lied and these translations may not work. But what if they did? We have to try. We can't just ignore this chance."
"What if they cause something terrible to happen?" His face tightened severely as he stared directly into my eyes, urgently pleading with me not to read my notes. "Please, forget the notes, don't read them. They won't help anyway."
"But the answer could very well be written in the curse itself!" I leapt up and away from him, hurrying to translate the odd text of the curse. "Every rose has its thorn." I began, shakily as I broke into a run.
Christopher was chasing me through the rose garden, trying with all earnest to steal my notes away from me. "The thorn is sharp. Its point drips with poison." My eyebrows crumpled with confusion as I read on.
From somewhere behind me, Christopher's insistent pleading had become screams. "Isabel!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Stop! Don't read the spell!"
"The thorn is ugly, but without it the rose is naked. Without its poisonous guardian, the wolves will devour the rose."
"Isabel!" Christopher roared. The entire garden seemed to quiver at the animalistic sound.
"Without the thorn, the rose will die." I read the final line of the curse's translations.
Christopher had become eerily silent. He no longer called after me. Nor did I hear his heavy footsteps. He was no longer chasing me. I stopped my running and turned to look behind me. "Christopher?" I called to him, still gripping the notes in my hands. The garden had become very quiet. There were no birds. Foxy was no longer barking. There wasn't even the rustling of the leaves in the wind. "Christopher?" I called again, making hesitant steps back towards the shed.
I weaved my way back through the maze of rose bushes and sculptures, calling to Christopher all the while. He never answered and my footsteps and voice became more frantic as my anxiety rose. When I reached the tool shed, I found that he was not there either. All I found was a pile of clothing. An old shirt that was mostly patches and trousers that were much too short. I picked them up and held them against me. Worried tears pricked at my eyes as my heart beat out of my chest. Either Christopher had decided to run around naked in the garden or the spell had made him evaporate into nothingness. The last few lines of the spell screamed inside my head. "Without its poisonous Guardian, the wolves will devour the rose. Without the thorn, the rose will die."
"Did you lose something, dear?" Rosalyn's cackle froze my blood instantly.
Swallowing back tears, I turned to face them, my tormentors, my captors and my own flesh and blood. "What have you done with him, you witch!" I screamed, baring my teeth at her like a wild animal.
"Me? I have done nothing to Thorn." She scoffed, her black eyes boring burning holes into my skin. She pointed her finger at the notes that were now balled up in my fist. "This was you're doing."
"You gave me the translations for some other spell." I grit my teeth at the wave of pain that crashed over me from head to foot. I was an absolute idiot. I should have listened to Christopher…when I had the chance.
"Indeed. Did you really think that I'd give you the translations to the beast's spell when you two are so close?" She asked in a mocking tone. "You think that I'm a fool, but it is you who is stupid, if you believed that."
"Where is he? What did that spell do?" I demanded, chocking on sobs.
"He's gone, wiped clean from the fabric of reality, time and space. Only you and I remember him. It's as if he never existed at all."
"Undo it! Undo it now!" I screeched, falling to my knees. A searing burn was creeping up from the base of my spine, tearing away at my muscles, pulling them away from the bone. "Please, I won't try anything like this again! I'll be a good, faithful student from here on! Just give him back!" I clawed at the grass, digging my nails into the soil. I knew full well what I was getting myself into and the knowledge of it was enough to make me wretch, spilling my breakfast into the grass. "Please. I want him to exist. Please." I coughed violently, splattering the ground with crimson blood.
Rosalyn's smile broadened. Her teeth peeked out from her painted lips, all of them jagged and sharp, ready to draw blood. She peered at me like a wolf at a wounded lamb. "I will on one condition, my dear niece. The Crafts are the founders of a secret organization of black arts practitioners, called the Smoke and Mirrors Club. If I undo this spell, you must promise, not only to take your lessons more seriously, but to join our club as well."
"I'll join your club. I'll do whatever you want, Rosalyn. Just give him back. A large tear rolled down my cheek and splashed against Christopher's shirt beneath me. "I cannot be alone again." I gasped painfully, feeling as if my lungs were being squeezed by some unseen hand. "Please, not again."
Rosalyn knelt beside me and touched my chin with her frigid fingers. "Go to your room, Isabel. Sleep and dream. When you wake, the beast will be in his garden once again and your life will belong to me." She flittered her fingers over my eyes and they at once drifted closed.
A beautiful woman slept peacefully in her coffin of glass. Roses were placed all around her, as if she were one of the angels in Christopher's garden. A man's warm hand held mine as we entered the room where the woman lay. The man towered over me, everyone in the room did. I felt quite small, almost as if I were a child once more. I craned my head back to peer at the man's face and grinned when I saw my father's familiar features.
He looked much younger than I remembered. His hair still held a bit of its brown color and fewer lines creased his face. But he did not smile. His features were pinched with the sadness of mourning.
My father led me up to the glass coffin and hoisted me up so that I could get a better look inside. The woman was very beautiful. Black hair fell about her shoulders and heart shaped face in soft waves. Her skin was a pure ivory without a blemish in sight. Only slight lines around her mouth betrayed the fact that she had ever been mortal.
"Beatrix." I heard father whisper with a painful groaning sound. I looked up at his face as tears began falling from his dull brown eyes. He quickly covered his eyes with his free hand so that no one would see.
"Is Mama sleeping?" I asked, placing a hand on the glass over the woman's face. "Wake her up." I did not feel this deep sadness that was evident in my father. I did not understand that my mother was dead. Mother slept so often, I thought that surely this was only one of her long naps and that she would soon awaken and return to me and father.
Father let his hand fall away from his eyes. More tears pooled upon his lower lashes. "Isabel, Mama is not going to wake up. Her soul is no longer with us. She's with God now." He explained the name of the almighty spitting from his tongue as if saying the word burned it. I could see his anger and bitterness plainly in his eyes. He didn't understand why this was happening to him or why God had taken a mother from her child, a wife from her husband so soon and so horribly. He was angry, angry at God, angry at the world and most of all at Beatrix herself. "Say goodbye, Isabel. Your mother is to be buried soon."
I said my farewells and placed a yellow rose upon the glass coffin. It stood out starkly among the crimson petals of those that surrounded it. Still the true meaning of death escaped me. Surely this was not permanent. Father was wrong. Mother would wake up soon from her nap and she and I would play the piano together before I went to bed, just as we always did.
Father sat me down and I watched him inquisitively as he bent over the coffin to place a kiss on the glass that separated him from his dead wife's lips. He lingered there a moment, gazing down at her placid face with warring emotions of anger and love. "Why?" He asked the dead woman. "Why can't I wake you?"
I awoke in the night at the feeling of a warm hand against my skin. Christopher was sitting in a chair by my bedside, absently sliding his fingers lightly over my arm. He was looking intently at the open pocket watch in his free hand. He wore a distant expression, his eyes soft and his feline lips pulled into a small smile. The air rang with the faint ticking of clockwork. The room was very dark. No candles were lit and the only light came from the moon outside my windows. That bit of light reflected in Christopher's animal like eyes. They glinted like silver coins in the dark.
"Christopher?" I squeaked, my voice hoarse.
Christopher jumped noticeably and quickly snapped the pocket watch closed. He hid it away in his lap. "You're finally awake. You've been sleeping for the past two days." He said, obviously trying to avoid explaining what he was doing.
"Two days?" I gasped.
"Yes. It was Rosalyn's doing I'm guessing. I told you not to read that spell."
"I'm so sorry, Christopher." I replied with a shaky voice. "I should have listened. I just want so desperately to help you. Now I've only made things worse for myself. Rosalyn wants me to join that club of hers."
"I know." He harrumphed like a cat that had just been kicked off its favorite cushion as he left his chair. "This is exactly what I've been trying to protect you from Isabel. Once you're a member of the Smoke and Mirrors Club, you'll be well on your way to becoming an enchantress yourself. When your induction comes, you'll no longer have a choice. You'll belong to the dark spirit. Soon you'll be just like her, cruel and only interested in obtaining that which will benefit you." He glared down at the floor, his mouth twisted in a snarl. "I'm going to lose you. Slowly but surely you're going to fade away and there's nothing I can do about it. He flexed his clawed fingers as he looked upon their scarred palms. "I have more strength now than most men will ever have in their entire lives, yet I still can't do a damn thing when it matters the most."
"Stop talking like that." I huffed, hoisting myself into a sitting position and kicking the blankets from my legs. "You are my friend are you not?"
Christopher tried without success to make me lie down again. "Of course I am." He said hesitantly. His eyes darted away from my face as he was overcome with embarrassment.
I touched his face and the warmth of my hand gave him a bit of courage, enough at least that he looked me in the eye. "Then you should have more faith in me." I said. "I don't believe that I will change so easily."
"You are a strong woman, Isabel. That is certain. However, you have one weakness for Rosalyn to extort."
"What is my weakness?" I asked Christopher as we stood together in the dark.
"Your pity for me," He said. His feline lips spread into a grimace. He looked like he was in great pain. I felt the now familiar pang of sorrow in my heart. It hurt me even more to know that I was the one who was inflicting his wounds. How painful it must have been for him to know that I looked on him in such a way, that I thought of him as a creature to be pitied and not as a man who needed to be loved. The worst part was knowing that I could not deny any of it. "She's already begun to use me as her bargaining chip. She knows you will do anything to right the wrong she has committed against me." Christopher said softly.
"I cannot sit back quietly and let her do as she pleases to you. She'll kill you if I don't do as she asks!" I yelled. He was always asking me not to care about him, when I knew that he truly desired the exact opposite.
"Then let her! She's already killed me, Isabel! I don't matter anymore! I'm not worth throwing away your soul for!" He yelled back.
I glared venomously at him. He was always so willing to sacrifice himself for my sake, but I was too selfish to allow him to do that any longer. "You do matter!" I screamed.
Christopher stared at me in shock, his eyes large and mouth slightly open. "You matter to me, Christopher. You're my friend and I care about you. Please, if there is any love for me in your heart, you will stop talking about yourself like you are already dead. Even if it is true."
Christopher drew close and took me up into his soft embrace. His arms encircled me gently as he was careful not to hug me too tightly. He didn't say a word and neither did I. The room around us was silent. The only sound was the racing of Christopher's heart as he held me against him. This was the closest we had ever been to each other. For a moment, I allowed myself to picture Christopher in his human form and saw only the masked version of him I had seen in my nightmare. Would there ever be a day when I could see his real face? Try as I might, I couldn't picture the face that might lie beneath the curse. Even in my dreams, he was masked.