Hemlock Veils

“Nothing, Mr. Clayton. Arne and I were discussing some…personal matters. You know, juicy secrets.” She folded her arms, and his eyes seemed to say touché.

“I was just helping Elizabeth, Mr. Clayton,” Arne said, standing slowly. “She’s moving in today. You can offer your assistance if you’d like. I am getting too old for this.”

“As far as it appears, Ms. Ashton is mostly moved in. She’s young and more than capable.” He met her eyes. “Now, Ms. Ashton, if you’ll excuse us, I need Arne.”

He disappeared around the corner and Arne sighed. “I’m needed by the master.” He handed her his glass and walked down the steps, but then turned back. “I know I’ve already said this, but I like you, Elizabeth. Very much.”

She smiled. “I like you too, Arne. Very much.”

***

The weather from the day before had been a fluke, the sun out only to tease. Now, the evening of the day following Elizabeth and Arne’s chat, rain poured outside her kitchen window, backed with lightning and thunder for added effect. The sky was dark, darker than usual at seven thirty. In the morning, she would officially open Jean’s doors for business, and her chest fluttered with excitement. She’d already spent most of her evening there, preparing dough for the pastries, and hadn’t returned home until just ten minutes ago.

As she unpacked her last box of personal belongings—books and cookbooks she arranged in alphabetical order on her shelf—she stared fondly at the last one, taking up the entire width of the box, cover face-up. Fairy Tales and Folklore: Truth in Legend. Lengthy, heavy, and wide, with a bulky leather cover and a title in faded gold: a compilation of not just the most commonly heard fairy tales, but some known only to those with an interest. But mostly, aside from telling the tales, it was meant to be a reference guide to those who believed them, full of information, tips, and cross-references. Its print date was 1941, and her father had found it at a local used bookstore in his early twenties, or so he’d said. They’d read it many times together when she was a child, from cover to cover, and he’d given it to her for her eighteenth birthday, only days before he’d passed. As though he was trying to pass his knowledge as a gift.

She’d forgotten most of the myths inside, probably due to her desire as a teenager to rid her life of all childish things. Now, hefting it, she wondered how many of them were more reality than myth. Her mind had been blown on the first night she saw the beast; and she did feel a certain magic in this forest, a magic that felt like home. Perhaps her father’s fairy tales held more water than she’d thought.

Opening it, she skimmed through, and old memories awakened at the touch of smooth, glossy pages. After minutes of browsing, she found the tale of Absolon and Elvire, a moving one about love and looking past one’s appearance. It was a story about the Cursed and the Curse Breaker: terms she had heard from her father on many occasions, and terms she had, until just now, forgotten about. They pierced her soul in a way she didn’t understand, and she brushed off the prodding of her heart, stored it in the back of her mind for a later time. The fable wasn’t long, and below it was a cross-reference to the hefty section dedicated to Aglaé, the one who cursed Absolon. Aglaé was a kind of enchantress, one the Witch section devoted the most attention to.

Elizabeth flipped to that section, with drawings and descriptions of every kind. She stopped on the third, the Aglaé—mesmerized by the splendor of the hand-drawn beauty, just as she’d been as a child. She had stared at this picture for hours as a child, simply in awe at the enchantress’s beauty. Aglaé: it meant beautiful splendor in French. It may have been a mere drawing, but she embodied something real and human, even in her splendor. Her long golden hair flowed to her waist in waves. With her delicate wrists and hands lifted in an embrace-like gesture, and her ruby-colored robe, her knowing eyes—the same color as her robe—appeared to seduce. And most sensual of all were her lips, curved in an enticing smile. Aglaé used her beauty to hypnotize men.

But only the foolish and unfaithful were her prey.

She could shift her form into anything or anyone in her attempt to snare them. It explained that as a women’s advocate, Aglaé would most commonly transform said men into the animals they behaved like: monkeys, dogs, jackasses, even frogs. Then, at the bottom of the list it simply said, monsters. It elaborated in the next paragraph, explaining that Aglaé was the most unfair of any enchantress. For some men, a ferocious and undefined beast was the only form she thought fitting for their characters, and for the rest of their lives they were labeled as such. Cursed for eternity, and the only way those curses could lift was by nearly impossible acts.

The following paragraph explained a few of the curses, but noted that there were too many variations to list. Elizabeth skipped to the next paragraph, where it said that in the rare case she might transform a man into such a monster, the cures were too far from their reach.

Her curses gave her strength.

And if the subject of her curse was unable to break it, her power grew.

These enchantresses, ruthless in their desire to keep these men prisoner, would go through extreme measures to keep them cursed. Even transforming into forms of hideous, murderous evil themselves.

Elizabeth closed the book with a huff, a sort of skeptical laugh. It was all so ridiculous.

Yet she found herself questioning its validity. Really, such magic couldn’t be too far-fetched. After all, the beast was inexplicable—undefined by books and incomparable to any known species. Most importantly, he was human. Elizabeth saw it, felt it. And this fairy tale—this story that stretched beyond impossible—fit. What had happened to the beast, and who had he been? What was his curse, and what was he being punished for? Could an enchantress like this be responsible for his existence?

She looked up at the same time that distinct chill tingled down her spine, her eyes shooting to the window behind her. She hadn’t closed her drapes the past few nights for this very reason. She’d been faithful to Mr. Clayton’s demand that she not enter the forest alone, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t watch him through the window at night. And just as he had the past two nights, he watched her, too. He came closer every night, this time only two feet from her window. His eyes pled for something she didn’t understand as the rain soaked him, streaming off the pointy tips of his ears. He seemed unaffected by it, but shook himself free of accumulating water, droplets smaller than the rain misting the air. Now, more than ever, she wanted to meet him outside. She wanted to know more, and she knew he wanted to know about her, too.

But in rising she reminded herself of the honorable person she once thought she was. She’d made a deal with Mr. Clayton, as unfortunate as it was, and would honor it. Besides, there was something…unsettling about the way the beast stood. It appeared he stood guard, as though he had become her night watchman. What was he guarding her from, and what could possibly be more terrifying than him?

With a hand on the window, she said she was sorry, wondering if he could hear, and with hesitation—and even sadness—she closed the drapes. There was no point in entertaining the temptation. She stood still a moment, feeling him there, and then felt nothing. She peeked, ever so discreetly, finding the place he stood empty.

She made her way to the bathroom, turning the handle over the old ceramic tub. A groan resonated from deep inside the pipe, followed by a gurgle. Right as she thought it was just her luck, water spewed from the joint of the pipe and shot in every direction, drenching everything. The cold water shocked her chest, stealing her breath, and while covering her eyes, she felt for the handle to turn it off. It took a moment, but finally all was still, and she sat in a large puddle of water, dripping as ferociously as the beast had been outside her window.