Another Faust (48 page)

“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.

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 to 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.”