Chapter 2

A light snow had begun falling when Piper left the next morning. She stood in the doorway of the little cottage that had been her home for three long years and watched the snow drift to the ground, dancing in the wind.

"Good bye," Mr. Harris said, embracing his daughter awkwardly and then stepping back almost instantly. Piper's eyes spoke of her pain but she said nothing. She was used to the indifference with which her father treated her. To have received even an embrace from him, no matter how short, was something she had experienced very few times in her life.

"You are letting all the cold air in, Piper," Jeanine complained, slapping her arms to keep warm. Now that their family had been saved from ruin, she thought very little of the sacrifice Piper was making.

"Godspeed," Veronica said, attempting compassion and falling miserably short.

"Good bye," Piper said softly and then she was gone, disappearing into the whirling snow. Soon, not even footprints would be evidence that Piper had passed that way.

"Well, that's that," said Jeanine briskly. "I suppose you want some breakfast, Papa?"


Piper remembered little of the journey to the castle. It was cold and her thin wool cloak did little against the biting chill of the wind. Her feet froze in her flimsy leather boots that had been worn by her father decades ago and were far past their prime. She shivered, pulling the cloak tighter around her and bowing her head into the wind.

She had not been surprised by her father's willingness to let her take his place at the castle. Quite frankly, she was startled that he had even argued at all. Usually he did not even pretend to look out for her welfare. It was only by digging around in the attic that she was able to procure the boots for her journey.

She soon arrived at the iron gates and pushed them open. She saw the little rosebush and an empty, almost forlorn spot where the rose that she had in her freezing hands had once grown. She turned away and forced open the huge wooden doors.

"Hello?" she called bravely into the huge ballroom that stretched out before her. A few flickering candles lined the walls, but they were hardly enough to light the way. The steady pounding of her heart sounded thunderous in her ears.

She walked down the stairs to the ballroom below. It looked as if at one time it had been a beautiful place, with expensive woodwork and crystal chandeliers and long red carpets, but had fallen to ruin. Everything, from the paintings to the carpets, looked as if it had been torn in a wolf's fit of rage. Piper shivered. If the wolf would not hesitate to ruin such beauty in a fit of anger, what would he do to her?

She wandered up the second flight of stairs across from the first and turned left. She walked aimlessly through the long, dark expanse of halls until she arrived in a huge room. It was even worse off than any of the rooms she had been in; it looked as if a hurricane had whipped through the room, dicing everything in sight.

There was one part of the room that had not yet been torn to pieces. A huge painting that stretched from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, covered the left wall. Piper walked over and stared up at it. It was a mural, depicting a young man, his shoulder locked in a giant wolf's snarling jaws. A few steps down, the young man was staring at himself in horror as he sprouted hair and became the wolf. An old man watched, his head thrown back, laughing.

The next scene showed the young man on his knees as a group of people turned their backs on him, shunning him as they walked out a door. Piper reached up and touched the tears on his cheeks, so life-like she could almost feel the moisture beneath her fingertips.

The next picture depicted the young man tearing apart something and Piper saw the wildness in his eyes as he became totally consumed by the wolf. There was nothing left of human compassion in him, nothing that tied him to the world of humanity.

But the next part puzzled Piper. The last bit of the canvas was completely bare, as white and pure as the snow that covered the ground outside. Not a single paintbrush had ever touched the flawless canvas and Piper wondered why the painting had not yet been finished.

"What are you doing?"

Piper whirled around, dropping her satchel with a few belongings she had brought. A man stood before her, tall and proud--the man from the painting. He was handsome, but in a cold, unforgiving way. His eyes were as black as midnight, his hair as dark a brown as Piper had ever seen. His face was expressionless save the hard fury in his inky eyes. He was no wolf, but he might as well been one. There was no mistaking the bestial look about him, despite his fine clothes and the cruel intelligence in his face.

"I am sorry," Piper said, leaning down and picking up her satchel. Her face flamed and she clutched the bundle to her breast.

The man pulled a tasseled cord and a curtain fell over the painting. His eyes were flinty. "You may never see that again, or else I shall kill you," he said and Piper did not doubt him. "In fact, I should kill you now."

Piper's throat constricted. "I am new here," she said, surprised that she was speaking. Normally her shyness inhibited her such that she could not speak at all. "I didn't know ..."

"SILENCE!" the man roared and slammed his fist down on a table. It splintered and Piper flinched. "You will speak only when I ask you to speak."

Piper ducked her head and pushed past him.

"Where are you going?" he asked, obviously amused.

"Home," Piper whispered. Hands as cold as death grabbed her arms and spun her around. Piper looked up at him in terror, trembling beneath his hands.

"You cannot go home, foolish girl," he said softly, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "This is your home, now."

Piper backed away from him. "This is not my home," she said, her soft voice shaking. She looked bravely up at him with her always sorrowful eyes. "You have not made it a home." Despite her fear, she tilted her quivering chin up defiantly. "May I see my room?" she asked. He bowed, mocking her.

"My servants will show you," he said and almost immediately, invisible hands grabbed her and began walking her down the long hallways, up staircases and through the castle itself until they came to a small door. Opening it, Piper walked into the only room that looked as if it hadn't been touched by the wolf. A four poster bed sat opposite a cold fire. An armoire and writing desk sat along one wall and an open door revealed a closet. A washbasin sat on a neat little table. Piper walked to the armoire and was surprised to see a number of beautiful dresses hanging inside. One lifted as if by magic and pressed against her. She backed away.

"I shall not wear it," she said and it hung itself neatly back up. Shaking with fear, exhaustion, and sorrow, Piper curled up on a giant window seat and wept for what she had done.