“But I wasn’t planning on staying here forever,” Beauty says. “I have to get to Soup Kitchen. And Grumpy Great-Grandma. And the orphans need me. And my dad will be home soon. Who’s going to help him run the cottage?”

“Don’t you have two sisters?” I ask. “They can help!”

“They never help,” she says. “I have to do everything.”

“Let them do it! And other people can work at the soup kitchen. And help orphans. And Grumpy Great-Grandma. Doesn’t she have great-grandkids? Where are they?”

“They’re not that nice,” Beauty says. “They’re Grumpy Great-Grandkids.”

“Well, it’s time everyone else pulled their weight. We need you here. We appreciate you here. Please say yes. Please say you’ll marry Mr. Beast if he asks. I can’t tell you why, but it is so, so important. And he really, really wants to marry you.”

She hesitates. “Well …”

“Pretty pretty pretty please?” Jonah asks.

“Okay,” she says with a sigh.

I throw my arms around her. “Yay! Thank you!”

One down. One to go.

Chapter Thirteen: The Curse

Anyone want to play flying crocodile before we go?” Jonah asks as we exit the Great Hall.

“We’re not going anywhere yet,” I say. “First we have to fix this. I’m going to help Mr. Beast cook.”

“And I’m going back downstairs to organize the books.” Beauty turns to Jonah. “Want to help?”

“I don’t really like books,” my brother says.

“Then you haven’t found the right books. I bet I can change your mind,” Beauty says in a singsong voice.

“I bet you can’t,” Jonah sings back.

“I’ll tell you what,” Beauty says, her hands on her hips. “Let me pick out one book for you. You have to read it. If you don’t like it, then you were right. If you do like it, then I was right.”

“What do I get if I’m right?” Jonah asks.

Beauty shrugs. “You don’t have to read anything for the rest of your life.”

What? Huh?

“Deal!” Jonah squeals.

I wave my hand. “Um, hang on. I’m not sure if my parents would agree to that plan.”

“Too late!” Jonah cries. “I already said ‘deal.’ What happens if I lose?”

Beauty smiles. “It’s a surprise.”

Jonah narrows his eyes. “I normally like surprises, but I’m suspicious of this one.”

“Don’t be. Promise.” She winks at me and runs down the stairs. “And you already said ‘deal.’ ”

I let them go, a little worried. I find Mr. Beast in the kitchen, cutting a chicken breast into strips.

It’s one of the biggest kitchens I’ve ever seen. It has two sinks, two ovens, and two oversized fridges. There are spices everywhere. Basil, oregano, cinnamon. Or is it spelled cinamon? Cinnamon? Uch, never mind.

I look into the empty pan. “What are you making?”

“Chicken stir-fry,” he says brusquely.