Read Online Beauty in the Beast by Christine Danse - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Danse
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the back door through which Miles had come. After the warmth of the cabin, the cold stung. I closed the door quickly behind me and stood in no more than my sweater, pants and boots on the back doorstep. However, the worst of the wind was blocked by the silent stomper to my left and a perpendicular extension of the cabin to my right. At the farthest end of the stomper’s sled, so that I was still just sheltered by it, I did my thing in the snow and buried the evidence.
I hunched back toward the door, but a glow of lamplight from outside caught my attention. Hugging my chest, I loped toward the leg of the cabin and peered around a wall to find Rolph kneeling on the bare ground under the shelter of a roof. The enclosure seemed to be a sort of stable and had the distinct musk of hoofed creatures, supporting my notion that he kept livestock, though I saw no animals by the lamp’s light.
Rolph’s arm worked at something on the ground in front of him, a dark mass that I recognized as a deer carcass when I stepped closer. Large sections had already been removed and had frosted at the edges. Apparently, it had been dead for some time and was being stored out here. My gaze traveled from its swollen, protruding tongue to the mess of frozen black blood and torn flesh at its throat.
“Wolf kill?” I asked, jaw tight against chattering.
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Yes.” I wasn’t sure from his expression if he was annoyed to see me. There was something primal about him squatting there before the kill—something that reminded me of a dog tugging at meat with its jaws, head slung low and shoulders peaked.
“Can I be of any assistance?” I asked.
He returned to his task, arm sawing back and forth as he worked a knife through the frozen meat. “Here. Would you take this inside?” He drew together the four corners of a cloth he had loaded with chunks from the animal’s side and handed the bundle to me. “You can go through the kitchen.” He indicated a door.
I found it and went through. The kitchen was a kitchen in intent, if not function. The oven and range were barely recognizable under a pile of straw, and the cold had settled in here as it hadn’t in the living room, waiting in the spider-webbed corners and nestling in the empty hearth.
A wooden table stood snug against the left wall, a fresh splatter of liquid darkening its dusty surface. Atop it sat the amber vial, its round mouth open, stopper lying nearby as if it had been hastily opened. I threw a quick glance behind me at the closed door before bending to sniff the sticky stuff. Up close, the sweet smell was more complex—laced with a sharp medicinal sting and grounded by a burned scent. Tears welled in my eyes and I sneezed once, loudly, before escaping into the hallway.
I paused just outside the threshold, tilting my nose to the air. The strange bitter smell I had noticed upon first entering the cabin was stronger here and stuck in the air persistently, like a burn or a scar. I could hear Miles’s voice to my left. Warmth and savory aroma radiated from that direction. To my right, I spied three doors. One stood slightly ajar, inviting me closer. The smell seemed to be coming from inside. It would be so easy to tap the door open a little farther and glance inside to resolve my curiosity.
I nudged the door open gently with my knee and a wall of bitter stink greeted me. The room inside was illuminated softly, not by gaslight or by fire, but by a sphere of blue-white phosphorescence. Tables crowded the room, all covered with the most occult and scientific apparati I had ever seen. Tubes, vials, stands. Jars and bottles. On the walls, arcane sigils had been drawn with charcoal, surrounding diagrams of dragons, flames, celestial bodies and liquids being poured.
Atop a table by the door, I found possibly the most startling objects in the room. Jars of paint, a palette, a cup of brushes, a rag smeared with dried colors, and paintings. A stack of them
I hunched back toward the door, but a glow of lamplight from outside caught my attention. Hugging my chest, I loped toward the leg of the cabin and peered around a wall to find Rolph kneeling on the bare ground under the shelter of a roof. The enclosure seemed to be a sort of stable and had the distinct musk of hoofed creatures, supporting my notion that he kept livestock, though I saw no animals by the lamp’s light.
Rolph’s arm worked at something on the ground in front of him, a dark mass that I recognized as a deer carcass when I stepped closer. Large sections had already been removed and had frosted at the edges. Apparently, it had been dead for some time and was being stored out here. My gaze traveled from its swollen, protruding tongue to the mess of frozen black blood and torn flesh at its throat.
“Wolf kill?” I asked, jaw tight against chattering.
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Yes.” I wasn’t sure from his expression if he was annoyed to see me. There was something primal about him squatting there before the kill—something that reminded me of a dog tugging at meat with its jaws, head slung low and shoulders peaked.
“Can I be of any assistance?” I asked.
He returned to his task, arm sawing back and forth as he worked a knife through the frozen meat. “Here. Would you take this inside?” He drew together the four corners of a cloth he had loaded with chunks from the animal’s side and handed the bundle to me. “You can go through the kitchen.” He indicated a door.
I found it and went through. The kitchen was a kitchen in intent, if not function. The oven and range were barely recognizable under a pile of straw, and the cold had settled in here as it hadn’t in the living room, waiting in the spider-webbed corners and nestling in the empty hearth.
A wooden table stood snug against the left wall, a fresh splatter of liquid darkening its dusty surface. Atop it sat the amber vial, its round mouth open, stopper lying nearby as if it had been hastily opened. I threw a quick glance behind me at the closed door before bending to sniff the sticky stuff. Up close, the sweet smell was more complex—laced with a sharp medicinal sting and grounded by a burned scent. Tears welled in my eyes and I sneezed once, loudly, before escaping into the hallway.
I paused just outside the threshold, tilting my nose to the air. The strange bitter smell I had noticed upon first entering the cabin was stronger here and stuck in the air persistently, like a burn or a scar. I could hear Miles’s voice to my left. Warmth and savory aroma radiated from that direction. To my right, I spied three doors. One stood slightly ajar, inviting me closer. The smell seemed to be coming from inside. It would be so easy to tap the door open a little farther and glance inside to resolve my curiosity.
I nudged the door open gently with my knee and a wall of bitter stink greeted me. The room inside was illuminated softly, not by gaslight or by fire, but by a sphere of blue-white phosphorescence. Tables crowded the room, all covered with the most occult and scientific apparati I had ever seen. Tubes, vials, stands. Jars and bottles. On the walls, arcane sigils had been drawn with charcoal, surrounding diagrams of dragons, flames, celestial bodies and liquids being poured.
Atop a table by the door, I found possibly the most startling objects in the room. Jars of paint, a palette, a cup of brushes, a rag smeared with dried colors, and paintings. A stack of them
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