“Will, it’s all right,” she managed.
He sobbed in confusion, as though the demon had plucked him from the past and placed him before her. Even the cowlick that used to spring up at the crown of his head danced with his movement. “Did you hurt me?” he asked with betrayal in his eyes, and she shook her head. “Why would you hurt me?”
“No, Will, I would never hurt you!” She tried reaching for him, tried not to let him see her sob. But he’d never been covered in so much blood. “You’re going to be all right,” she assured, but through her weeping it sounded less than convincing.
He grasped her jacket, pleading as blood began to escape his nose in addition to his chest and mouth. All she wanted to do was save her young, helpless brother, and she couldn’t escape this damn tree. “You can’t let me die, Bethy! Don’t let me!” As his face grew more ashen, his voice weakened, and so did her limbs. His blue Dr. Seuss shirt—his favorite—was covered in so much blood that Thing One and Thing Two were unrecognizable, and she hoped she could get the blood out, that she could get it clean for him again.
Her stomach rose, her head spun, and she closed her eyes, trying to breathe, trying to replace his bloodied image with a different one—one that didn’t pull her under. “It’s all right, Willem,” she barely managed in a breath. She thought of him in the park with her and their father. Laughing. It was the best image.
An image: that’s all this was. It wasn’t real, he wasn’t real. The Diableron.
“You’re not real,” she said, eyes still closed.
“Beth,” Willem said, his voice now the adult version of him, the same choking one from the night of his death.
“No.” Her voice found strength. She lifted her chin. Staring into eyes that weren’t really her brother’s, she said, “You aren’t Willem.”
With the disappearance of her brother, darkness and the demon appeared before her, and as it had the first time, the horrifying sight startled her. Behind the angry, melting face—the face that would have given her nightmares as a child and the face she was sure could transform into a most beautiful Aglaé—the black, spear-like tail raised. It came to her neck, rubbing its cool wetness over Elizabeth’s skin, and just when it retracted, about to strike, the creature was thrown from her. Elizabeth fell to the ground, trying to adjust her eyes to the swift movement of shapes in the darkness. Snorts and grunts gave the beast away, ones that could belong only to him.
He tossed the Diableron into a hemlock, and with a piercing cry she fell to the ground. The beast stood on all fours, snarling at the dark silhouette that rose with difficulty. They circled each other, she hissing and he growling.
He roared, making her retreat, and lunged for her, his fangs tearing into her neck. It wasn’t until he howled that Elizabeth realized Diableron’s tail had penetrated his side. While a black, mist-like substance poured from her neck and lifted into the air, she retracted her tail from deep in the beast’s flesh.
“Beast!” Elizabeth called, running to him.
While Diableron writhed on the ground, he threw a warning at Elizabeth. Stay away!
Then, in a less commanding, muddled tone, she heard, Elizabeth? and he fell to the ground.
Her knees skidded through the mud and came to a stop before him. She lifted her head at another screech, but Diableron fled, slipping between the trees as quickly as the beast moved. Her last screech, which came from much farther away, was unmistakably a cry of pain.
The beast began to stand.
“Stay,” Elizabeth said, trying to push him down. She moved her hands over his fur until she reached the blood on his left side, warm and wet and spilling. She ripped off her jacket, rolled it up, and pressed it hard into the wound. He howled again, writhing, and she tried shushing him. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “You’re going to be all right.” Her face was wet, not from the tears she’d shed for Willem, but from new ones. She wiped them on her upper arm, still putting pressure on his wound.
Elizabeth, leave, he said, and she shook her head before the words finished in her mind.
“I’m not leaving you.” She looked all around, trying not to panic. He didn’t have long before the poison would overtake him, and if she didn’t do something about his wound soon, she would lose him.
“I need you to walk,” she said after a sniffle, trying to make her voice strong. “Can you do that, Beast?”
Leave me. His eyes drifted. Go home. He said it over and over again. You’re not…safe.
She shook him, and his large, brown-and-gold eyes met hers, though they appeared out of focus. “You listen to me,” she said through her teeth. “She’s gone now, I’m fine. I’m not leaving you, and I can’t carry you. So you’ll either walk with me, or I’ll stay right here with you all night. What’s it going to be?”
As though his deep groan commanded it, he slowly rose to all fours. His legs shook and his head swayed. She lifted her long-sleeved thermal shirt over her head and yanked her arms out of the sleeves, leaving her in her white camisole. She pushed her back upward against his side, to both steady him and supply pressure on the wound, and as quickly as she could, she tied her shirt sleeve to her jacket sleeve. Behind her he wavered, and she pushed her back more forcefully into his side, digging her boots into the soil.
At her release of her pressure, blood began to pour from his side again, and as quickly as she could, she threw one end of the makeshift bandage over his back and retrieved it from underneath, pulling it tight around the thinnest part of his waist. She positioned it with the hood of her jacket balled up over the wound then pulled it tighter before tying the opposite sleeves together. It was almost too short and in the long run wouldn’t do much, especially because blood already saturated it.
“Let’s go,” she rushed. She shoved her shoulder into the wound and steadied him with her hands, trying to be the best support she could be. But she was nearly helpless with a creature so large; if he fell on her, she would be crushed. His legs wobbled and his steps seemed difficult, and words floated in and out of her mind: her name amidst random, incoherent thoughts. “I need you to focus,” she said, trying to guide him in the right direction. But he wouldn’t allow her to guide him to her home. Instead they veered toward the mansion.
The stone wall wasn’t far ahead, but his front legs nearly gave out and he stumbled. She steadied him, urgency giving her limbs strength. “Stay with me, we’re almost there.”
After a few more feet he stumbled again, and she moved just in time for him to fall face-first to the ground. “Beast, get up!” she shouted, shaking him.
Leave me…Elizabeth. He laid his head on the ground, his eyes closing and opening with a heavy drowsiness she could almost feel herself.
“No!” She shook him again, even pulled on his ears. “Please.” She tried not to notice his blood, everywhere. “You’ll be all right if you go with me…”
Don’t cry, he said. With his eyes safely behind closed lids, hers desperately searched the area. There had to be something she could do. She couldn’t leave him out here.
Then she knew. His eyes remained closed when she spoke, and if any of him remained inside, she hoped he could hear. “I’ll be right back,” she said, close to his ear. “I’m not going to leave you. I’m going to get help.”
He moaned, moving his head as though he objected, but she ran anyway, through the trees, until she slammed into the wrought iron fence around his mansion. After sprinting to the gate, she pushed the green button on the panel, panting. She buckled over, resting her hands on her knees as she waited, trying to steady her breathing, but she didn’t have time to wait. She pushed it again, and then again. Finally, a buzz sounded and Arne’s voice came over the intercom.