Another Faust

by Daniel Nayeri

  Had a sister ever made such a sacrifice, or even fathomed doing what Bicé was willing to do just then? She had forgiven all that they had done to her and decided to leave, knowing that if she took them away from there, away from any chance of finding her green bottles, she’d die before they even made it downtown. Christian realized that whenever he pressured her to leave, he had been telling her to lay down her life for them. They were halfway to the front door when Christian stopped.

  “We can’t go.”

  “I’m not spending my last hours here,” Bicé said, pulling his arm.

  “No, we’re not just going to let you die. What happens if we get back that serum? Will you be able to go back to normal?”

  Bicé shrugged. She wasn’t sure of anything now.

  “No matter what we do, we have to hurry,” said Belle, watching the two moths circling their heads. “If those things are around, it’s only a matter of time before Vileroy finds out.”

  Christian said, “I have a plan.”

  Victoria had spent the better part of the night trying to revive her dying hive. She picked them up, one by one, to see if they were dead or just stunned. Finally she had lain down and fallen asleep with the creatures covering her, some dead, some moving like a fitful blanket. When she awoke, what seemed like hours later, several of them had begun to fly around on their own and the floor full of carcasses began to clear, giving way to a new gray buzzing cloud. Victoria stood to one side, watching. They weren’t as strong as they used to be. They were slow, weak, disoriented. Sometimes, a few of them would knock into each other. She stepped into the middle of the cloud. She caught a word here, a phrase there. She was about to stomp away when she saw two giant hornets fly in through the door, past her head, and into the dwindling, emaciated hive. Her mind began to soak up what the hornets had seen, what some of their brothers were seeing now — Buddy running down the hall, looking back at the bugs while they chased him. Stupid droid. He kept looking back, as if expecting that they would catch up with him. Then Victoria saw him enter Christian’s room, sit by Christian’s side, and pick up a colored pencil.

  Christian looked at Buddy and said, “Maybe it’s worth it.”

  Buddy sat with his notebook on his lap as if he was trying to entice Christian into teaching him some more.

  “You think she’ll take me back?”

  Buddy nodded, keeping his head bowed, his sad eyes fixed on the floor.

  Victoria’s heart was beating faster and faster. Was Christian changing his mind again? When he had come into the house all those years ago as a ten-year-old, he had taken one look at all of them, and it seemed like he knew immediately what Vileroy was. He had changed his mind, didn’t want her deal anymore, and tried to run away. Of course, by then it was too late. And now, Victoria laughed at the inconsistency of his decisions. So typical. So weak. Now he was back to grabbing for the prize.

  “Maybe I could use it for good somehow. I could try to help people once I got powerful,” said Christian.

  Poor naive Christian. He had no idea. But it didn’t matter to Victoria. All that mattered was that he seemed willing. She knew how much Madame Vileroy wanted Christian, how important this was to her. If Victoria could somehow get the credit for this, then Madame Vileroy would see how useful she was. She could teach her new things. They would get rid of the twins together.

  “I should have won that award tonight, not Connor,” said Christian.

  Buddy nodded, skimming his finger on a page as if he was trying to remember each word.

  “Victoria was right. I should have destroyed all of them.”

  Buddy looked up with a sympathetic grin. “Take a look at my chest,” said Christian. He unbuttoned his shirt a little to show what had suddenly stung him. Victoria saw his bare chest, the water bottle in his hand, and the black oozing mark over his heart that had seemed to appear with a tiny squirt. That was it. She ran out of her gaunt, withered cloud of insects and toward Christian’s room.

  “Christian!” she yelled, a little too excitedly.

  “What do you want?” Christian whipped around, with the dumbfounded Buddy peeking from behind him. A hornet and some moths were still circling overhead. One was resting on the ceiling. Victoria looked up at them thankfully. Then she looked back at Christian and said, “I just overhead some of what you said.”

  “So?”

  “So I can help you. We can figure out what to ask Madame Vileroy. I’ll take you to her.”

  “Why would I need you?”

  “Because I’m Vileroy’s favorite now.”

  “I’m pretty sure she still likes Valentin more than you,” said Christian.

  Victoria tried not to cringe. “I can send the moths to get her for you . . . if you want. We can talk to her together.”

  Victoria was trying to sound sweet but managed to sound greedier than ever. All she knew was that she wanted a piece of this action.

  Victoria reached out her hand and took the two moths in her palm. She held them close to her face, as if she were nuzzling them. She whispered something to them, and in an instant, they took off toward the east wing.

  Bicé was hiding in a tiny hallway, branching out from the main hall leading to the east wing. Belle was with her, cowering, waiting for Madame Vileroy to come out.

  “You think this will work?” she asked Belle.

  “I know one thing. The only way she spies on us is those moths. She’s not omniscient. She’s not God.”

  “Still . . .” Bicé stopped talking for a moment and dropped her head. She couldn’t stop staring at her aging hands. She ran her hands through her hair, now silvery-gray and a bit thinner. She felt the lines on her face, which were the lines of a woman even older than she was a few minutes before. “We’re running out of time,” she said.

  “Sarah? Sarah, are you there?”

  “No, Benjamin, it’s just the two of us now.”

  “Where did you take my Sarah?”

  “Nowhere, dear. She’s at home. Safe.”

  “I want to go back!”

  “You can’t go back. You sold your soul. You gave it to me so that I would save her life. And now she’s back in your home, alive, happy — until tomorrow, when she finds you gone.”

  “You promised she wouldn’t suffer.”

  “She won’t. I’ll make her forget all about you, if you like. You, on the other hand, are mine.”

  “Where are we?”

  “This is my home. For you, it is a sort of purgatory. You will stay here. You will serve my children. You will help me give them the desires of their heart. And thus you will repay your debt to me.”

  “And what if I refuse to help you?”

  “You won’t. Because in exchange, I will give you a gift.”

  “What gift?”

  “See this room? The one with the white window? You remember the white window, don’t you? It can take you anywhere. You can see your Sarah, long after she’s dead.”

  Belle and Bicé saw the moths racing back toward the center space of the house, Madame Vileroy trailing behind them, her long black dress flying behind her. From this dark angle, she looked like a giant moth, perhaps the mother of all moths, following them toward some juicy prey. As soon as she had passed, Bicé took a deep breath and bolted toward the east wing, with Belle just behind her. The hall was dark and cold. Along the way, candles flickered in shallow winds from every direction, as if a million little mouths were breathing on them. But Belle and Bicé didn’t notice. They had to get into the east wing; they had to find that serum. Still, entering Madame Vileroy’s personal sanctuary felt like setting foot in the deepest circle of hell.

  After a couple of minutes of poking around the branching hallways, they saw doors everywhere, halfway up the walls, on the ceiling, lying on their backs on the floor like hospital patients. It was as if a thousand different paths and decisions would lead to the same place, like all the dead ends of a maze. Belle and Bicé noticed a huge mahogany door that looked much too big t
o even fit into the apartment. It towered over them, like an ever-vigilant guard.

  “That has to be it,” said Belle.

  “Wait,” said Bicé. “No, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “Well, of course you don’t,” said Belle as she moved toward the door. “It’s Vileroy’s wing. But we have to find —” But before Belle could finish, she jumped back and screamed. Bicé leaped toward her and slapped her hand over Belle’s mouth. The door was moving. It was alive. Something was writhing and undulating under the wood. Giant wormlike shapes were swimming through the wood.

  “I . . . I saw . . . a face.”

  “I think I know what it is,” said Bicé, pulling her sister away. “That’s not the one we want.”

  “How do you know?” said Belle, frightened, trying to figure out what the big door could possibly be.

  “I’ve lived in this house for a lot of years.”

  Belle and Bicé ran toward the door. Belle was surprised that it was unlocked, but Bicé didn’t seem to notice. Belle had expected to find something scary behind that door, something truly evil. She thought that maybe Madame Vileroy lived in a state of constant fire and agony. She thought maybe the room would be hot and rancid like her room or filled with creepy-crawly things like Victoria’s or a cave like Bicé’s or home to a lost and tortured soul like Christian’s. But it was none of these things. It was cool and pleasant, decorated lavishly, like the blue house. There were couches and pillows and big plush chairs. There were antique dressers full of drawers. There was a coffee table decorated with flowers. Belle wanted to laugh, and then she wanted to cry, because she realized that, of course, Vileroy would not live in the same horror that she gave to them.

  “Watch the door. And watch for bugs,” said Bicé as she began to ransack the room.

  Madame Vileroy swept into the room.

  “Well, Victoria. What do you want?”

  Victoria ran up to Madame Vileroy. Christian watched as Victoria kept glancing back at him, making sure he couldn’t hear as she whispered something to the governess.

  “Madame Vileroy, I made him change his mind.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s ready now. He wants to sell his soul. He wants to be one of us.”

  “Darling, you are such a fool. He turned me down only hours ago.”

  “He’s changed his mind. I swear. I changed his mind.”

  Madame Vileroy spoke up, eyeing the water bottle: “Christian, dear, let me see your chest.”

  “Not yet,” said Christian.

  “See, Victoria?” Vileroy crossed her arms. “He hasn’t changed his mind.”

  “Yes, I have,” said Christian. “I just don’t think you should get to see anything until you tell me exactly what I’m getting out of this.”

  “What would you like, dear?”

  “I want to be a famous athlete.”

  “All right.”

  “And rich.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I want Victoria gone.”

  “What?” Victoria jumped.

  For the first time since Christian had known him, Buddy burst into a joyous laugh. He slapped Christian on the back.

  “I want Victoria to be sent back home. To her family. To live an ordinary life and not get her hands on any more power.”

  Victoria began to laugh.

  But then: “Done,” said Madame Vileroy.

  Victoria let out an indescribable guttural noise. “Christian. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “So you would do that? You’d get rid of Victoria to get me?”

  “Victoria will do well on her own. She is very clever,” Madame Vileroy answered coolly.

  “Well,” said Christian, throwing a meaningful look at Victoria, “I’m not totally sure that’s what I want.” He wanted her to read his mind at that moment, to hear him say, See, Victoria? She doesn’t love you. You can’t trust her. Give this up. But there was no sign of recognition on her face.

  “All right, what else would you like?” Madame Vileroy asked.

  “I want Buddy to be safe, and I want him cured of whatever it is that made him this way.”

  Victoria had moved into a corner now. She seemed to be talking to her fists again. She whirled around before Vileroy could answer and yelled out.

  “Belle and Bicé are in the east wing!”

  Madame Vileroy narrowed her eyes at Christian. He couldn’t hide it anymore. Her eyes searched him. She turned and walked out of the room. As she strode out, Christian heard her honey-sweet voice drifting back into the room, whispering, “Good-bye, Benjamin.”

  Without thinking, Christian turned to Buddy. Looking into his face, Christian could tell that he was no longer a mindless droid. There was something very alive in his eyes, as if a lost part of him had come back.

  “Buddy, what’s wrong?” Christian asked. But Buddy could barely catch his breath.

  “Christian,” he spat out slowly, gurgling on the first word that Christian had ever heard him speak.

  “What is it?” Christian grabbed hold of Buddy’s arm.

  But Buddy fell to the ground, lifeless.

  Christian’s eyes welled up with tears. He pulled aside his shirt for Victoria to see. The black mark on his chest had streaked down to his stomach. “It was ink.”

  When Christian had come up with the plan to fool the insects, Buddy had been scared. But he had pulled it off with all the loyalty of a true friend. He had played his part perfectly and tricked even the smartest. And Victoria had fallen for it and so had her disgusting swarm; Buddy had led them right to Christian. It was so easy for Victoria to believe that Buddy was stupid, that he was an empty dummy, that he would let Christian sell his soul. But even though so much of his mind had been erased or corrupted by Vileroy’s tricks and tortures, Buddy had a good soul. He was a real person, as real as any of them. Benjamin. He had only wanted to help Christian, and the children before him. Buddy was dead now, but before that, he had been Christian’s best friend.

  “Hurry up, hurry up!” said Belle from the other side of the small door.

  “Are you sure there aren’t any bugs here?” Bicé called back.

  “Just move —”

  But Belle didn’t have time to finish her sentence. Because just then, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Having fun without me?” said Valentin, in that sort of slimy tone he’d taken on more and more lately.

  “Valentin, what are you doing?”

  “What are you doing? And where’s Christian?”

  “Christian’s in the main room. Go find him. I’m sure he’ll want to hear your poem or whatever.”

  “Who’s in there?” Valentin glanced past Belle toward the door.

  “Nobody. Just go, Valentin.”

  Bicé could hear talking just outside the door. Someone was there. She had pulled the entire room apart and still no serum. There were bottles and boxes everywhere, but not a single one looked like the stuff she’d been drinking every night. She was so scared; she was losing her concentration. She kept opening the same drawers over and over, pulling the same pillows apart. Her hand was twitching visibly now. All that nervousness and paranoia that had built up inside her — the effect of years of solitary living, of slowly becoming a recluse — seemed to be coming out all at once.

  “Where is that bottle? Where is it? Where is it?”

  Bicé started to mumble nervously to herself. First in Greek, then Welsh, then Korean. Her mind seemed to be operating separately from her body, running at its own breakneck speed. She heard the voices outside again.

  “Forget it, Belle. I’m going in.” It was Valentin. Then she heard a noise, like a kick to the stomach, and a gasp.

  Then she saw it, the drawer in the wall, painted the same color as the wallpaper.

  “What’s this?” she said to herself as she pulled it open. Her hands were now shaking so much that the drawer came crashing out, spilling all its contents to the floor. But there it was, the
familiar bottle, full of the green liquid she had come to know so well. She grabbed it and tried to pull the top off, but it was stuck, and her arms were growing weak. Bicé pulled and pulled, every few moments turning toward the door, just waiting for someone to come bursting through.

  Then she saw something else. A rolled-up piece of parchment was lying on the floor. Taking another look over her shoulder, she opened it up to read. The message was cryptic. Written in a scrawling script, it looked as if it was thousands of years old. Bicé had to squint to make it out. It was some sort of recipe. A set of instructions set in rhyme by Vileroy or maybe someone even older. How long has Vileroy been doing this? Bicé wondered. Was she ever a child herself? Maybe the recipe was written by Vileroy’s own governess, or her governess’s governess. Whatever the case, there it was — her way out, a recipe for a lifetime of potion to keep her alive:

  A nightly sip to stay the hand of time,

  A fount of youth to keep you in your prime,

  But nothing in this world comes without cost:

  For every gain, an equal treasure lost.

  Youth in a jar, a witch’s brew: ensnare

  The beauty of a child whose blood you share.

  One taste and your two fates forever tie,

  A curse to use the other till you die.

  A single pool of youth to share, some each;

  An ugly death for one, and one a leech.

  Escape this fate? You won’t, though you might try,

  Though you might weep, and cheat, and steal, and lie.

  As Bicé read the message on the parchment, she finally understood, and she felt sad, for herself and her sister, whose lives had been ruined by each other. Bicé threw another glance at the door. Her hands were sweaty, and she felt cheated. How can this be? The antiaging serum was made by stealing someone’s beauty. Someone with shared blood. Bicé didn’t want to accept it, but it was hardly a question. Poor Belle. That’s the reason she became ugly — because all her beauty was used to make this potion so that Vileroy could trap me. Vileroy must have slowly leached away Belle’s true beauty — the beauty that was inherent in her before the governess gave her a new, mesmerizing face. Under that ravishing mask, no one would have noticed that she was getting worse and worse, her loveliness seeping away and replaced by vanity and pride, leaving her ugly inside and out. Then, finally, when Vileroy wanted it, years of deterioration appeared suddenly on the poor girl’s face. Bicé felt a deep pain in her chest. She was complicit in her sister’s ugliness — and in her extreme vanity — because she had spent years drinking away her sister’s true beauty.