‘Come on. I’ll be careful. Let’s get it done,’ said Jack.

She couldn’t keep avoiding it. She was terrified, but she had to do it. He wasn’t going to let her put it off any longer.

‘All right,’ she said, and sat down at the kitchen table, Trix at her feet. Jack fetched antiseptic and scissors and got to work.

It didn’t hurt much, really. He snipped and tugged . . .

‘Ow!’

She felt a fresh rivulet of warm blood snake down to her jaw.

‘Sorry,’ he said, dabbing at it, and then he went on until all the stitches were out. Then he bathed her scars in watered-down Dettol, patted her face dry. She watched him. He had big hands, calloused and lightly furred with dark hair, but he worked delicately and carefully.

Soon, it was done.

Her face throbbed, but it was OK.

‘Not too bad?’ he asked, putting the first aid box aside and sitting down, his eyes on hers.

‘Fine,’ she said, swallowing hard, full of fear. ‘Jack?’

‘Hm?’

‘A mirror,’ said Belle. ‘Please.’

‘You’re sure?’

Belle shrugged casually. She didn’t feel casual. She felt terrified.

‘Yeah. I’m sure.’

He went into the pantry and brought out a hand mirror. It was silver – obviously the one that was missing from the set on the dressing table in Belle’s room. Then he sat back down at the kitchen table and placed it in front of her, face down, on the surface. ‘Here,’ he said.

Belle looked at it. The filigree work on it was very fine. Very pretty. She hadn’t even touched it yet and already she hated the thing.

‘If you don’t want to do it yet, that’s fine,’ said Jack.

‘No, I . . .’ Belle gulped. ‘This was your mum’s, was it?’ Belle found she was babbling with nerves. ‘It’s lovely. She had taste.’

‘No she didn’t,’ he said.

End of conversation.

She stretched out a hand and picked up the mirror. Very slowly, she turned the mirror toward her – and then she looked.

There was a demon staring back at her. The left side of her face was puckered and purple and weeping fresh blood. To the right she was Belle – the same, unchanged. To the left . . . oh Jesus. The caiman had ripped her cheek right open in a V-shaped flap and the stitching had roughly repaired the damage. But she was altered forever. If she smiled, she would frighten children. Shit, she frightened herself.

‘You OK?’ asked Jack.

Trix licked Belle’s hand and whined.

Shaking, unable to speak, Belle slammed the mirror onto the table, face down, and ran back to her room, closing the door behind her.

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