Another Faust (16 page)

Victoria was happy — ever since Madame Vileroy had all but assured that her future would be as bright as a morning star. She would go down in history forever. Now
that
was a Christmas present.

Wrapped in towels, Victoria looked at herself in the mirror. She eyed the black spot, still visible on the moist skin of her chest. Suddenly she was startled by a noise in the room. Victoria whipped around to see Madame Vileroy sitting in the corner like a coiled snake, so silent you’d think she wasn’t paying attention — a smile on her face like a demon trying to be demure. She looked like the picture of the perfect mother.

Then she spoke: “Put some clothes on. I want to show you something.”

As they made their way down the hall, Victoria grew more excited and frightened. The candles had flickered out, and she was beginning to feel something crawling on her arms and face. She didn’t know what it was, but somehow she didn’t feel alone. Victoria heard a buzzing noise, growing louder as they moved down the cold, dark hall. It wasn’t like the buzzing of bees or hornets. It was light and fluttery, like millions of tiny wings flapping all over the place, enclosed in a tiny space. Victoria closed her eyes, scared to see what kind of horror Madame Vileroy had in store for her. They walked into a room. The buzzing had grown so loud that it was almost impossible to hear anything else. She felt Madame Vileroy’s icy hand on her shoulder, compelling her to take a look.

Victoria opened her eyes to a sight that left her breathless. Moths, hundreds and thousands and millions of them. They filled the tiny room like a massive cloud of dust. They flew around in unison, flapping their wings in such harmony that the sound began to take on a sort of rhythm. In the thick fog of moths, Victoria was afraid to open her mouth to speak, since she might get a mouthful of bugs.

“Don’t worry,” Madame Vileroy read her mind. “You can talk. They won’t harm you . . . much.”

“W-what are they?” Victoria stammered.

“Meet your new family, Victoria. Your closest confidants. These creatures will become your eyes and ears throughout the city.”

“How?”

“Did you ever wish you could be a fly on the wall in other people’s lives?” Madame Vileroy smiled with malice.

“Well, yes, it’s like that when I . . . you know . . .”

“Yes, but there’s only one of you and thousands of
them
. . .”

Victoria was beginning to understand. These moths would spy for her. She wouldn’t have to do the work anymore. In fact, she didn’t even have to be in the room in order to do it.

“Take a few steps forward.”

“What?” Victoria was shocked and scared. “You want me to go in? They’re all over the place.”

Madame Vileroy didn’t respond. Victoria took a small step inside, then another, and soon she was standing in the middle of the cloud. She couldn’t see Madame Vileroy, or the door, or the walls — only moths flying around faster and faster. When they sensed her presence, they began to converge around her head, whipping around and around like flies drawn to a flame. Victoria had never been so scared in her life. She couldn’t see anything except the mist of insects; she couldn’t hear anything else either. All she could do was stand there and hope that they wouldn’t hurt her. She became aware of the unnerving feeling of wings against her face. Then she reached out her hand and allowed a few of them to hover above and below her outstretched arm. Their wings felt soft, like a giant feather boa, and Victoria’s fear began to subside. Still, she was far from comfortable. The moths were everywhere. Suddenly she wished she had put on more clothes.

Then she noticed something. The buzzing was not all that she could hear in this noisy whirl of insects. She could hear something else. Victoria’s eyes fixed on a moth that was flying toward her. As it whizzed by her face, she heard a word whispered amid the flapping.

Rrrrrrrr.
“Spencer.”
Rrrrrrrrr.

Then another moth came buzzing past. It too whispered something.

Rrrrrrr.
“Divorce.”
Rrrrrr.

Then, as she turned around in a circle, she noticed that all of the little creatures were saying something. Words were flying at her, in a giant jumble, intermixed with buzzing and flapping.
Rrrrr.
“Thomas.”
Rrrrr.

Rrrrrrr.
“Party.”
Rrrrr.

Rrrr.
“School.”
Rrrrr.

Rrrr.
“Election.”
Rrrrrrr.

Rrrrrr.
“Suspicion.”
Rrrrr.

Victoria grabbed her head. There was no way she could piece together what all of these creatures were saying. They were all speaking at once, throwing words here and there. She called out for Madame Vileroy.

Madame Vileroy’s voice came to her calmly, yet magnified, as if carried by the moths. “Don’t try to listen, Victoria. Just close your eyes and remove yourself from the moment. Let them do the work. When they are finished, you will know.”

Victoria reluctantly obeyed. She stopped trying to listen. She simply closed her eyes and tried to shut off her brain. She just stood there, almost in a trance. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes in shock and ecstasy.

“They put the information in my brain! I can see what happened for the last three days at Thomas’s house. And Lucy’s house. And at the neighbors’ upstairs.”

“All you have to do is stand there and let them whisper to your unconscious mind. There are enough of them to cover every house in the city, but you must be careful. They interpret information just as you would. They do make mistakes.”

“Are you sure it’s OK for me to know all this?”

“Knowledge is power — and power is good. Anyone who tries to tell you that you shouldn’t know something is just afraid that you’ll become powerful.”

Victoria squealed with delight.

“Well, that was petty,” Belle spat as soon as she found her governess alone.

“Do you think so, dear? Tell me why.”

“Because!” Belle raised her voice. “You knew he’d go nuts! And for what? You traded me the bath, only to set up Victoria’s little plan. Since when is a nice deed enough of a reward for you?”

Madame Vileroy shrugged. Belle persisted.

“What’s in it for you? Why help Vic? All the rest of us have to make deals . . .”

The governess looked at Belle with the kind of pity you would feel for the slowest kid in the class. “Did you really think I did it out of the kindness of my heart?”

“Vic got her way. . . . She must be your favorite, then.” Belle stopped short, angry at herself for having just said that — having shown the governess that she cared. She whispered, “If you’d have me do all that for
her.
. . . The doctor and the snack were all for
her
sake.”

Madame Vileroy looked at Belle with interest, with that look on her face that appeared only when she was studying someone or something. When she was deigning to find the children fascinating.

“I thought that the current wisdom among you children was that Valentin’s my favorite.”

“I just don’t get why you couldn’t do it all yourself. I mean why would you need me?”

“Well, dear, if you took a moment to think, you might realize that things aren’t quite that simple and that it
had
to be you for a reason. If you were cleverer or savvier, you might even come to think that you, not Victoria, could be my favorite.”

Belle looked confused.

“I don’t care who wins that prize, Victoria or the poor fool who really deserves it. And I don’t care about what ridiculous item triggers Christian’s rage,” said the governess, careful not to mention that Belle could be the new object of that rage. Instead she sat back and spun her web around Belle. Her naive charge. Her favorite. “This entire bargain only matters because of what
you
can learn from it. The way you use it. The ripples you produce.”

“Ripples?” Belle asked.

Madame Vileroy waved away the question.

“I did it to teach
you
a lesson. I had to make you do it, so you would learn — for your future. This was all for you, Belle.”

“That makes no sense. What can I learn from Christian going nuts over a snack?”

“Simply how difficult it is to predict people’s reactions. How difficult and how useful. I want you to learn that no matter what your intentions are, other people will always interpret things in their own way, based on their own past. I want you to realize that if you knew in advance, if you could read people well enough, you would have more power than the bath could ever give you. Learn that, and you won’t
need
to be my favorite. You can be anyone’s favorite.”

Belle spent a few moments thinking, wondering how much to trust Vileroy. Her heart beat fast, and the black mark above it lay dark and dormant, hidden beneath her dry skin.
Learn that, and you can be anyone’s favorite.

“I’m pretty good at reading people . . .”

“Darling, you managed even to misread my intentions. First you thought I was doing something nice for Christian. Then for Victoria. And all the time, you knew enough to figure it out. You must dig deeper.”

Suddenly Belle felt utterly stupid. The governess went on: “People act and react based on things that go far deeper than what you expect. You have to dig and then dig deeper . . . always deeper.”

“What happened to Christian? Why did he act like that?”

“He learned a lesson too,” said Vileroy, her eyes fixed on Belle in such a way that she could hardly miss how intricately woven it all had been. She could hardly miss how, like a simple girl, she had missed it completely. “Christian got a taste of what it was like before. A tiny reminder of his old life — what it’s like to be poor. So now he can focus on why he’s here and not be distracted with this poet fantasy. We all know
that
has to die.”

“Great. So he learns his lesson and hates me in the process.”

Vileroy smiled at the many lasting effects of one small action.

“Well, if you can’t read him well enough to make him love you again, you can always use the bath.”

Even though she knew better, that last comment made Belle feel good.

“So you see, dear? Are you convinced? I’ve never bothered to teach lessons before. Never wasted a bargain. But you, my Belle. You could be special. You could go so far and do so well.”

With that, the governess walked toward Belle and held her face in her hands. Those long, icy fingers around Belle’s chin felt like falling into a pool of stagnant water, her face wrapped in slithering water snakes.

“You could be my favorite. Just like a daughter of my own . . . that is, if you don’t disappoint me.”

Just like a daughter.

Those words swam through Belle’s heart and mind and landed hard in her stomach, so that all day long she had to hold herself together, her arms wrapped around herself, warming her body against sudden chills — those frantic bursts of cold when the words left the back of her mind and splashed to the surface.

Victoria stood outside the cloud of moths alone, watching the moths circling the room, forming various shapes, speeding up and slowing down as if they too were thinking about something. She stepped back into the gray cloud, ignoring the fact that the hairs on her arms were standing on end. When she was in the middle, she shut off her mind and let the words buzz past her, melding into coherent thoughts. After a while, she knew that the neighbor upstairs was getting a divorce, the neighbor downstairs was having an affair with the doorman, and the mailman on Forty-second Street was stealing birthday cards for the cash. With this kind of power, Victoria could easily become the most successful student at Marlowe.
Harvard? Forget it. That’s nothing. President of a small country? Try the United States!
She didn’t ask to be liked; she didn’t care if she hurt anyone, and she didn’t feel too queasy about using the ideas Madame Vileroy whispered in her ear. She just wanted to win. Plain and simple.

The probing insects were hard to get used to, though, constantly touching her, barely letting her breathe. It was like being buried alive. She focused on Thomas, whom she knew to be her top competition in debate. She asked for more information about him, and the moths responded like obedient angels.
Thomas has been holed up in his room all day. His father came to him twice to see if he wanted to play a round of golf. His father kept saying not to put pressure on himself. Thomas has been practicing for the State Debate and Drama Tournament for months now. He has over a thousand pieces of evidence and a box full of data. His room is filled with debate trophies and certificates. He is a front-runner for the Marlowe Prize, the most prestigious merit-based award at the school — usually given to the top student. Thomas said to his dad that he has a great idea for winning the big tournament. Didn’t hear the idea.