Page 23 of Beau and the Beast

She hadn't let herself think about them in a long time, but watching Beau move around the kitchen brought them to her mind unbidden.

Children, young people, she thought, were so resilient. It was as if Beau had simply decided to stop questioning things and go about his normal business. He hummed as he made a sandwich, as if he'd always lived in the penthouse.

She hoped his resiliency would continue the next day.

He was going to need it when he met his new employer.

After a few minutes, Beau retired to his room. She checked her watch.

Wolfram would be up in an hour. She had no idea how he was going to take the news that they had a new guest. Her boss hadn't been interested in trying their experiments to break the curse, but he'd always gone along with them. It was the least he could do, after all that had happened.

Chapter Six

Wolfram dreamed of ice skating.

It was one of the best memories his dreaming mind could come up with—not as devastating as dreams of sex but not as overstimulating as dreams of travel.

Just a simple scene: a crowded ice rink in the middle of New Whitby. Wolfram in his best jacket and rented ice skates. It snowed steady but softly and the air was still, laughter and chatter and the sounds of the crowd echoing and filling him up.

He'd never enjoyed crowds, but there was something he missed about them now.

There had been a time when he could be anonymous. And that was all he wanted. That innocence, that ability to go about his day unnoticed.

Wolfram drew lazy figure eights over the ice, dodging children and couples and other solo skaters like himself.

He laced his gloved fingers behind his back, appreciating the feeling of the air rustling his hair, the relative smallness of his frame as he glided around the rink.

He nodded at people—at real strangers—and they nodded back.

In the dream, Wolfram smiled.

* * *

There wassomething alive in Wolfram’s room and it caused him to wake up against his will.

The logical part of his mind knew that there was nothing in the penthouse but his trusted staff—but his mind wasn'talllogical. It hadn't been for some time.

There was an animal part of his consciousness that had been taking up more and more real estate in his brain lately—and that was the part of him that kicked awake that evening.

It was Violet. Even if he hadn’t been able to see in the dark, he would’ve recognized her scent immediately.

But there was... something else. Someoneelse.

It wasn't the scent of a physician, which was easy to tell from the antisepticlackof scent. It wasn't the grocery boy, who always smelled to Wolfram like recycled paper bags and the wax that coated fruit.

The extra scents that Violet brought with her on her clothes, her hands, were unlike anything he had smelled since he'd been bound to the penthouse. They were warm and sweet and peaty, earthy... almost comforting.

"Are you alright?" he asked in the dark. He shifted atop the big bed, covering himself with a sheet before reaching for the pull chain on the floor lamp.

"Just fine," she said softly. "Did I wake you?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head. "Come in."

She entered his bedroom and pulled a sturdy cushion up next to the low plank bed where he was laying. He stretched and yawned, wishing that he could go back to sleep but knowing that it would be impossible now that he'd been presented with the mystery scents. He wondered if that was what Violet was there to tell him about.

"Something very exciting has happened," she said.

If that was true, her face didn't betray it. She looked as somber as a nun.

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