Beauty and the Werewolf

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THE DOOR OPENED, SPILLING OUT LIGHT AND HEAT and laughter and a snatch of music into the darkened street. It closed again, and Isabella Beauchamps shivered with delighted anticipation.

“Come on!” she urged her twin stepsisters, as they hung back a little. “It sounds like the dancing has just started!”

“I still don’t think—” said Amber.

“It’s so…declasse—” said Pearl.

“Of course it is,” Bella replied, laughing. “That’s why it’s going to be fun! For once, you’re going to come to a dance and enjoy yourselves!” She seized each of them by the hand, and tugged them to the door of the Wool Guildhall.

“But what if someone—” said Amber.

“Recognizes us?” finished Pearl.

“You’re wearing your masks, for one thing,” Bella replied, logically. “And for another, those are last year’s gowns. Would anyone believe you’d wear last year’s gowns?”

“No!” they replied in chorus, and then giggled behind their free hands. “They’ll probably think I’m Jeanette,” said Amber. “And Pearl is Marguerite.”

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