Bright We Burn

by Kiersten White

  I nodded solemnly. She took my hand and led me away. I did not look back.

  “My son, Victor, is only a year or two older than you are. He is a special child. Bright and inquisitive. But he does not make friends easily. Other children are…” She paused, as though searching a candy dish for just the right piece to pop into her mouth. “They are intimidated by him. He is solitary and lonely. But I think a friend like you would be just the gentling influence he needs. Could you do that, Elizabeth? Could you be Victor’s special friend?”

  Our walk had brought us to their holiday villa. I stopped dead. I was amazed by the sight. Her momentum tugged me forward and I stumbled, stunned.

  I had had a life, before. Before the hovel with mean and biting children. Before the woman who cared for me with fists and bruises. Before a life haunted by hunger and fear and cold, crammed into the dirty darkness with strange bodies.

  I stepped one toe gingerly over the threshold of the villa the Frankensteins had taken for their time at Lake Como. I followed her through those beautiful rooms of green and gold, windows and light, pain left behind as I stepped through this dreamworld.

  I had lived here before. And I lived here every night when I closed my eyes.

  Though I had lost my home and my father more than two years before, and no child could remember with perfect clarity, I knew it. This had been my life. These rooms, blessed with beauty and space—so much space!—had graced my infancy. It was not this villa, specifically, so much as the general sense of it. There is a safety in cleanliness, a comfort in beauty.

  Madame Frankenstein had brought me out of the darkness and back into the light.

  I rubbed at my tender and bruised arms, as thin as sticks. Determination filled my child’s body. I would be whatever her son needed if doing so gave me back this life. The day was bright; the lady’s hand was softer than anything I had felt in years, and the rooms ahead of us seemed filled with hope for a new future.

  Madame Frankenstein led me through the hallways and out to the garden.

  Victor stood alone. His hands were clasped behind his back, and though he was not much more than a year older than me, he seemed almost like an adult. I felt the same shy wariness I would feel approaching a strange man.

  “Victor,” his mother said, and again I sensed fear and nervousness in her voice. “Victor, I have brought a friend.”

  He turned. How clean he was! It filled me with shame to be wearing a much-patched, too-big dress. Though my hair was washed—my caregiver said it was the best thing I had to recommend me—I knew my feet inside my slippers were dirty. I felt, as he looked at me, he must surely know, too.

  He tried on a smile like I tried on castoff clothing, shifting it around until it mostly fit his face. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello,” I said.

  We both stood, motionless, as his mother watched.

  I had to make him like me. But what did I have to offer a boy who had everything? “Do you want to find a bird’s nest with me?” I asked, the words tumbling out in a rush. I was better at finding them than any of the other children. Victor did not look like a boy who had ever climbed a tree to spy on nests. It was the only thing I could think of. “It is spring, so their chicks are all nearly ready to hatch.”

  Victor frowned, his dark eyebrows drawing close together. And then he nodded, holding out his hand. I stepped forward and took it. His mother sighed with relief.

  “Have fun! Do stay close to the villa, though,” she entreated us.

  I led Victor out of the garden and into the spring-green forest that surrounded the estate. The lake was not far. I could smell it, cold and dark, on the breeze. I took a wandering path, keeping my eyes trained on the branches above us. It felt vital to find the promised nest. As though it were a test, and if I passed, then I could stay in Victor’s world.

  And if I failed…

  But there, like hope bundled into twigs and mud: a nest! I pointed to it, beaming.

  Victor frowned. “It is high.”

  “I can get it!”

  He considered me. “You are a girl. You should not climb trees.”

  I had been climbing trees since I could walk, but his pronouncement filled me with the same shame my dirty feet did. I was doing everything wrong.

  “Maybe,” I said, twisting my dress in my hands, “maybe I can climb this one, and it will be the last tree I climb? For you?”

  He considered my proposal, and then he smiled. “Yes, all right.”

  “I will count the eggs and tell you how many there are!” I was already scrambling up the trunk, wishing my feet were bare but too aware of myself to take off my shoes.

  “No, bring the nest down.”

  I paused, halfway to my goal. “But if we move the nest, the mother may not be able to find it.”

  “You said you would show me a nest. Did you lie?” He looked so angry at the idea that I had deceived him. Especially that first day, I would have done anything to make him smile.

  “No!” I said, my breath catching in my chest. I reached the branch and scooted along it. Inside the nest were four tiny, perfect eggs of pale blue.

  As carefully as I could, I worked the nest free from the branch. I would show Victor and then put it right back. It was difficult, climbing down while keeping the nest protected and intact, but I managed. I presented it to Victor triumphantly, beaming at him.

  He peered inside. “When will they hatch?”

  “Soon.”

  He held out his hands and took the nest. Then he found a large, flat rock and set the nest on top of it.

  “Robins, I think.” I stroked the smooth blue of the shells. I imagined they were pieces of the sky, and that if I could reach high enough, the sky would be smooth and warm like these eggs.

  “Maybe,” I said, giggling, “the sky laid these eggs. And when they hatch, a miniature sun will burst free and fly up into the air.”

  Victor looked at me. “That is absurd. You are very odd.”

  I closed my mouth, trying to smile at him to let him know his words had not hurt my feelings. He smiled back, tentative, and said, “There are four eggs and only one sun. Maybe the others will be clouds.” I felt a warm burst of affection for him. He picked up the first egg, holding it to the light of the sun. “Look. You can see the bird.”

  He was right. The shell was translucent, and the silhouette of a curled-up chick was visible. I let out a laugh of delight. “It is like seeing the future,” I said.

  “Almost.”

  If either of us could have seen the future, we would have known that the next day his mother would pay my cruel caregiver and take me away forever, presenting me to Victor as his special gift.

  Justine sighed happily. “I love that story.”

  She loved it because I told it just for her. It was not entirely the truth. But so little of what I told anyone ever was. I had ceased feeling guilty long ago. Words and stories were tools to elicit the desired reactions in others, and I was an expert craftswoman.

  That particular story was almost correct. I embellished some, particularly about remembering the villa, because that was critical to lie about. And I always left off the ending. She would not understand, and I did not like to think about it.

  “I can feel its heart,” Victor whispered in my memory.

  I peeked out the edge of the curtain as the city of Ingolstadt swallowed us, its dark stone homes closing around us like teeth. It had taken my Victor and devoured him. I had sent Henry to lure him home, and now I had lost them both.

  I was here to get Victor back. I would not leave until I had.

  I had not lied to Justine about my motivation. Henry’s betrayal stung like a wound, fresh and raw. But I could survive that. What I could not survive was losing my Victor. I needed Victor. And that little girl who had done what was necessary to secure his heart would still do
whatever it took to keep it.

  I bared my teeth back at the city, daring it to try to stop me.

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