The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  “Certainly.”

  Valérie turned around, feeling more confident. She looked fully at her husband, who was pleased with the result of their deliberations.

  “However, I do wish you’d make it clear to Antonina that she must not be seeking you to adjudicate on these matters. Your aunt has entrusted her care to us, and I am merely looking out for her.”

  “I will speak to her. Do not worry,” Gaetan said.

  She felt wicked for a brief moment, for deceiving him. But she could not have told him the truth, that she’d met Hector years before and he was more than a performer she had once, casually, chanced upon. That was impossible. She could have steered Hector away from their household, though. She could still do it. She could convince Gaetan that the trip to the theater had been a disaster, make up a lie.

  Valérie doubted she would. She felt irresistibly thrust forward. A force had been set in motion and she suspected she was helpless or unwilling to stop it.

  Chapter 6

  NINA WOKE UP EARLY THE day they were supposed to go to the Royal and spent an inordinate amount of time considering her hair. Valérie had picked her dress for this occasion, a dress that Nina did not like at all, but she did not want to jeopardize the invitation and she grudgingly obeyed the older woman’s instructions.

  The dress was white with long sleeves, three tiers of lace, and a pleated yellow satin sash. Valérie insisted it was the perfect dress for the evening. Nina thought it made her look washed out. She would have preferred the green dress she’d brought from home with the embroidered roses, but Valérie had imperiously declared it too gaudy.

  White, then. But Valérie would not dictate her hair. It would have to be done up, but Nina decided it would be worn in an elaborate knot. This required the maid to part her hair into four sections, twist and gather it at the top of the head, and then place a back comb and hairpins to secure the hairdo in place.

  She also picked her emerald necklace rather than the pearls Valérie had helpfully suggested.

  They left the house close to seven o’clock. The carriage rolled down the wide boulevards, onto the Avenue of Ashes, named thus because the Temple of Our Lady of Ashes was located midway through it. The Convent of the Sisters of Solitude could still be glimpsed behind a tall wall and rows of poplars, but the avenue was not a place for holy thoughts anymore. It had morphed into one of the busiest arteries in the city, with many fine restaurants and entertainment venues. The Opera House rose on the area known as the Mound, but other establishments were also perched along the avenue. Key among these was the Royal.

  The Royal, like its rival, the Pavilion, branded itself not as pure entertainment, but also as an enriching, educational experience. At the Royal, patrons could be treated to displays of the latest electromagnetic gadgets, optical illusions, or a plain old dance troupe. The eclectic mix required a wide range of performers, from makers of complex automatons to musicians. Of most interest were the “talents,” those individuals who possessed strange abilities science was beginning to unravel. There were those who could make objects burst into flames and people who had mastery over animals, but Nina was most fascinated by the talents who could manipulate objects with their thoughts. Among these people, there was no doubt that Hector Auvray occupied a special place.

  When Nina descended from the carriage, she looked up, wishing to take the time to admire the outlandish building. It was a large structure and looked far too excessive to really be called an attractive building, but its vastness inspired a certain reverence.

  The arched doorways were flanked by two marble elephants, their trunks in the air. The main hall led to an imposing staircase. The floors were decorated with elaborate blue-and-white mosaics, the chandeliers dangling from the ceiling glittered, fairy-tale-like.

  Nina and Valérie proceeded to the red-and-golden private box where they would watch the performance. Nina had not been to the Royal and she leaned forward, looking around with interest at the people beneath them and in the boxes around them, at the stage with its red velvet curtains, curious about every detail. Valérie, for her part, held her peacock fan in her lap and did not look at anything, her gaze fixed on a singular, invisible point.

  The curtain rose. Music began to play and dancers streamed onto the stage. Nina felt impatient as they performed, the minutes ticking by. Finally the dance ended, the curtain fell again, and then rose for the main performance.

  A man appeared and greeted the audience. The musicians assembled by the stage began playing a popular melody—“The Chestnuts”—and the man smiled, bowing.

  “Welcome,” said the gray-haired man. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. In a few minutes, you will be treated to a display of wonders. But first I must make it clear that everything that takes place on this stage is real: no parlor tricks, no sleight of hand.”

  The man gestured left and right, as if mapping the stage. “You are about to meet one of the most talented psychokinetics of our age. He has performed before queens and bishops, tantalizing audiences from Luquennay to Anuv. There is no feat that is too difficult, no manipulation of matter that evades him. And tonight he stands before you. I present Hector Auvray.”

  Another curtain rose and an elaborate backdrop was revealed, a view of Loisail from the air. Hector walked slowly onstage as everyone applauded. The posters showed him with a crimson cape, but he wore a double-breasted black dress coat, a burgundy waistcoat with details in gold thread, and a wide, matching cravat enhanced by a gold pin. When he reached the center of the stage, he bowed and took off his white gloves, handing them to an assistant.

  “First, Mr. Auvray will demonstrate to you the basic nature of his talent,” said the announcer. “Here we have but half a dozen ordinary chairs. Nothing to them, mere wood and a few nails.”

  As he spoke, Hector’s assistants set down the chairs in a row. Hector stood in front of the row of chairs, without looking at them, his eyes fixed on the audience. Then he moved a hand and the chairs all moved in that direction, as if roped together. He moved his hand in the other direction and the chairs settled back in place. A flicker of his hands and the chairs stacked themselves on each other to the oohs and ahhs of the viewers, then unstacked themselves.

  “Large objects are no concern for Mr. Auvray, but how about something smaller?” the announcer asked. “A deck of cards, perhaps.”

  An assistant approached Hector, and he took a deck of cards, letting it rest on the palm of his hand for a moment before he began shuffling the cards in the air. He made the cards dance around him, then whirl up and down the stage like a tornado, circling the announcer, who was reciting more lines about the deck, a common deck, and the finesse required to perform this kind of demonstration.

  Next there was a change of backdrops, more music, and explanations before Hector emerged again and stood in the middle of the stage. They lit long white candles all around him. Thirty, forty, perhaps. The announcer continued with his speech, discussing the nature of fire and a divine spark, and Nina leaned forward in the dark, wishing she could be closer to the stage or that he might lift his head in their direction. He knew the box they occupied.

  “Watch now, as even fire cannot evade the command of Mr. Auvray,” the announcer said.

  Hector raised his hands, the candle flames rising with them, and with one movement of his arms they merged into a prodigious ball of fire that he then snuffed out with a clap of his hands, causing several spectators to shriek because, for a moment, it seemed like he was about to scorch himself.

  “What is the secret? It’s all in the power of the mind, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said as the assistants wheeled out a box. The announcer reached into the box and pulled out a handful of crystals, which sparkled under the lights of the stage.

  Hector also reached into the box, and the crystals rose and coalesced into different shapes: a box, a sphere, even a flower.

  When the moneyed people of Loisail entertained themselves, they were not supposed to display emotio
n. Neither glee nor passion colored their faces. This silliness was left to the common people. But Nina, candid, smiled widely and tried to speak to Valérie, sharing her thoughts about the performance. Valérie whacked her on the wrist with her fan and Nina bit her lip. She did not try to speak again, but she did not wash the excited smile from her face.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we must ask what seems like a silly question. Can Mr. Auvray dance? Yes? What do you think? We’d need music to find out.”

  There was chuckling as the musicians pressed their bows against the strings and murmurs that increased as the assistants dragged three extremely tall mirrors onstage. Hector traced a circle around a mirror, then another, then a third, and the mirror began to spin with him. Then a second mirror spun, and a third, all perfectly synchronized. He stood in the middle of a circle of whirling glass, the mirrors shifting with the music. They were “dancing,” as the man had promised.

  “Isn’t it magnificent?” the announcer asked, but the wonders had not ceased. Hector gestured to one of the mirrors and it fell, resting above the floor. He stepped onto the mirror and with a flick of his hands moved another in front of him, stepping onto that one as well, as though he were climbing up a moving, ever-shifting staircase. Once he had ascended high above the stage, he stood still on top of a mirror, like a character from a children’s book riding a magic carpet. The audience gasped as he drifted above their heads, around the theater.

  He rose high; his hands brushed the monstrous chandelier dangling above the audience’s head. He lost his grip and plummeted and everyone shrieked. Nina pressed a hand against her mouth, jumping up from her seat, the clangor of a cymbal punctuating the beating of her heart, but then he rose again, smiling, and everyone let out a breathless sigh as the music swelled and the announcer declared that this was Hector Auvray, ladies and gentlemen, the one and only.

  “Please put your hands together for Mr. Auvray,” said the announcer.

  Nina obeyed and clapped as hard as she could. Valérie pulled her back down, onto her seat, with an angry scowl.

  When the show ended, Nina and Valérie remained in their box. Valérie slowly fanning herself, Nina fiddling with her gloves—she’d taken them off and now struggled to put them on again. Hector arrived shortly after. He had changed into more casual wear, a gray dinner jacket, an overcoat under his arm. Tall, slim, and charged with a palpable magnetism that might have been the energy left from his performance, he stepped forward, and Nina dropped one of her gloves.

  “Ladies,” he said with a bow, kissing Valérie’s hand, then Nina’s. “I hope you enjoyed yourselves.”

  “It was amazing!” Nina said at once. “I’ve never seen the likes of it.”

  She might have told him a thousand things she had enjoyed, but he turned to Valérie politely.

  “And you, what did you think?” he asked Valérie.

  “It was a fine performance.”

  “Had you ever seen a show of this type?”

  Valérie’s mouth was grave. She shook her head. “Not on this scale,” Valérie replied.

  “You must tell me how you do it. Especially the process with the cards,” Nina said.

  “Don’t be a bother, Nina. I’m sure he does not want to explain the finer details of his work.”

  “Perhaps in the future we can discuss it,” he said.

  She felt vindicated by his words. Valérie made it seem like it was horrid to be interested in telekinesis. Nina could not see the harm in it. It was not as if she could pretend she was not a talent of a sort herself. Ever since she was a girl, she’d made things move. She’d given the maids a bit of a fright at times—the rain of stones upon the house lingered heavy in everyone’s memory—and she couldn’t control it well, but Nina tried to consider it all in a scientific light. The universe was unveiling new wonders every day, the motorcar and the photographic camera, to name but a handful of the inventions dazzling the world. She preferred to classify herself as one of these new wonders.

  On occasion her thoughts turned less jovial. There were taunts and misunderstandings, angry recriminations when her ability disturbed the household. Even Mama and Madelena had at times looked at her with worry.

  “Would you like to go to Maximilian’s?” Hector asked.

  “Can we?” Nina asked, turning to Valérie.

  “Only for a few minutes,” Valérie replied.

  Maximilian’s was close by. They walked. At this point in the night, the restaurant was busy, but Hector had either secured a reservation or was deemed sufficiently important that they were quickly shown to their table.

  The inside was brightly illuminated, gleaming silver and sparkling glass and lacquered tables dazzling the eye. Hector ordered champagne and ether-soaked strawberries. The combination was tangy, but not unpleasant.

  When they socialized, Valérie invariably directed the conversation, but Nina was emboldened, either by the setting or the company, and she raised her voice and her glass.

  “You must tell me what Iblevad is like,” Nina said.

  “It would be difficult to describe a whole continent,” he said soberly.

  “Do try,” she said.

  Nina had seen drawings in books, colorful plates that reproduced the flora and fauna of Iblevad, but she wanted him to speak of it, to make it more real. He seemed to give it a thought.

  “The north is gruesomely cold in the winter. Sometimes when you take a breath, it hurts, that is how cold it is. But to the south there are jungles, and if you walk there in the summer, under the heat of the noon sun, you will truly believe you will be cooked alive even if you wear a straw hat.”

  “And armadillos roam all around?” she asked.

  “There are armadillos, yes.”

  “Iridescent butterflies, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “It must be a sight, Port Anselm in the spring.”

  He had, until that moment, been distracted, but his eyes fixed on her then as if he had just noticed they were sharing a table, and there was mirth in his gaze. What she’d said had pleased him, and his words came more easily, regaling her with an exact description of the port, how it looked in the afternoon sun.

  Valérie looked irritated. She hardly drank a sip and her eyes were hard. Nina guessed she wished to go home, but Nina would not move an inch. Hector spoke about Port Anselm, and Nina asked him many questions. How long had he been there? How had he arrived, by boat or train? She might have spoken to him all night long. But she was not a drinker—the champagne and strawberries had gone to her head—and despite her best efforts, she found herself yawning. This was her undoing.

  Valérie uncoiled a smile. “Poor Antonina, we must get you to bed,” Valérie said a little too loudly.

  “Why?” Nina whispered. “Valérie, I took the trouble of doing my hair and wearing this dress and—”

  “I am fearing you will spill champagne all over your pretty dress.”

  Nina thought her cousin sounded amused, even happy. Was Valérie mocking her?

  “But we’ve hardly had a chance to talk,” Nina complained.

  “Here now, give me that,” Valérie said, smiling again as she pried Nina’s champagne flute from her fingers. “It’s enough, dear girl.”

  Nina wanted to yell at Valérie and demand that she stop treating her like a child, especially when Hector was sitting right across from them, but she knew that if she did, Valérie would tell Gaetan that she had behaved poorly.

  “You must forgive me, Mr. Auvray. I am rather tired,” Nina said with downcast eyes.

  “No need to apologize. It’s understandable. I myself should head home. I have an early morning tomorrow. Mrs. Beaulieu, I hope this is not the last time we meet. Miss Beaulieu, it was a pleasure seeing you,” he declared, kissing their hands.

  The evening was truncated, but at least Nina drew comfort from these words. A pleasure seeing her. This signaled more than polite chatter; she was sure of it.

  “Valérie, we should invite him to dinner
,” she said once they sat in the carriage, her lids heavy. “Gaetan said we could if you thought it appropriate.”

  “I know.”

  “He is nice, isn’t he? He was attentive.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t like him?” Nina asked, turning to look at Valérie.

  Valérie’s face was, as usual, cool and composed. She held her peacock fan between her beautiful hands, a finger brushing upon a feather. “I did not say that.”

  “What is wrong, then?”

  Nina was not good with boys. She knew this. She would have thought Valérie might be pleased to see her talking with a man without tripping over her words.

  Valérie let out an exasperated sigh. “Nothing is wrong,” she declared. “He may sup with us next week.”

  Nina was so delighted, she gave Valérie a hug, remembering too late that the woman was not fond of any physical demonstrations of affection. Nina was used to hugging Mama and Madelena, used to their laughter.

  “Nina, please,” Valérie said.

  Nina quickly moved away from the older woman. Valérie idly raised her fan and continued to run a finger along a feather, her attention now devoted to this object. Nina had ceased to exist for her. It did not matter. Because she had agreed. She had agreed and Nina could see Hector again.

  Chapter 7

  THE CRIMSON FOX WAS ÉTIENNE’S type of café. Well located, small, and with an eclectic clientele, actors mixing with painters, mixing with newly rich impresarios. It was the kind of place where one might bump into women like Nathalie de Peurli, the most famous artist’s model in all the city, be robbed blind by ruffians, or share a cigarette with a duelist before he slipped out to meet his nemesis.

  The café honored its namesake with the hue of its walls, painted a bright crimson, and the colored glass windows, which featured two pairs of foxes.

  At six o’clock, the café was bursting at the seams, and Hector had a hard time finding Étienne among all the patrons. Finally he saw his friend, sipping his coffee and disinterestedly leafing through a newspaper, sitting at the back of the establishment. Hector had to elbow his way toward Étienne’s table. There was no possible way to delicately move through the café; the tables and chairs were so close together, there was scarcely any space for the waiters to walk around.