Another Faust (40 page)

“Let me out!” Belle shouted as she yanked on the knob. “Somebody let me out! Bicé! Bicé! Are you out there?” This was not how things were supposed to work. She had given Madame Vileroy as much as Victoria had. Why was Vileroy helping her so much?

Bicé and Christian walked into the apartment just in time to see Belle smash through the door with a chair.

“What are you doing?” Christian said in shock.

“What are
you
doing? I’ve been calling for help for an hour.”

Belle knew she had to get back before Victoria blindsided Thomas with all her stolen information. The tournament meant nothing to her. She just couldn’t stand the thought of Thomas being used like that by Victoria. Christian and the girls made it back just as Victoria was taking the podium. They waited in the back while Victoria smoothed out her papers and smiled to Thomas and the judges. She actually took the first twenty seconds of her time to thank the judges. The judges may have bought the act, but to someone who knew her as well as Belle did, her smile looked like a leer.

“I will respond to each of Mr. Goodman-Brown’s points in turn. Point one: Without the right to property, there would be no motive to work or innovate and we would fall into a state of communism. I would like to offer the following quotes from Adam Smith, George Washington, David Ricardo, Ronald Reagan, and the head of the WTO.”

“Wow, a bit dramatic, even for Vic . . .” Bicé mumbled to herself.

“Shh . . .” Belle nudged her sister. She was intently focused on seeing Thomas’s reaction.

As soon as Valentin finished reading, the crowd stood up and started clapping feverishly.
All those weepy mothers and unstable teenage girls,
Valentin thought.
I could have been reading random excerpts from Bicé’s Kazak-English dictionary.

Charlotte had tears in her eyes.
He’s looking right at me. I can’t believe he wrote that whole sonnet just for me.

“Point two: Contrary to my opponent’s statement, drug companies
do
have incentive to do their part for the poor. It’s good for public relations. I have here six consumer surveys indicating that customers are four times more likely to support a company that helps the poor . . .”

“PR? What about helping people?” said Bicé.

“I think she’s foaming at the mouth,” said Belle.

“Valentin, that was amazing.”

“Thanks.”

Valentin was distracted. A crowd of five girls and three moms had just gathered around him. They pushed Charlotte to the back.

“Where did you get the inspiration for that poem?”

“How long did it take to write?”

“Was it for anyone special?”

Charlotte caught Valentin’s eye, and her heart skipped a beat. Did he smile just then?
Yes, I knew it. It was for me.

“No one in particular,” Valentin said casually.

Valentin stood on his toes and looked past the crowd at the door. “Hey, it’s Christian! Fantastic.” He pushed through to the back and almost walked right by Charlotte. He wouldn’t have stopped if she hadn’t called his name.

“Oh . . . hi, Charlotte. Love that sweater.” He started to walk off. Charlotte noticed the stack of papers, neatly folded in his hand. She could see his initials,
VF,
beautifully scripted at the bottom of each page. She wondered if any of those were written for her.

“So did you really mean what you said? That you didn’t write that poem for anyone?”

“Oh . . . no, of course not,” he said with a grin. “Gotta run now. Next round coming up and I’m starving.”

“I’ll get you something to eat if you want.”

“Ahh, you’re a doll.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Can you be back in five minutes?”

Bicé was so absorbed in what Victoria was saying that she didn’t notice Madame Vileroy standing behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Bicé, did you help Belle get here?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Bicé whispered.

“I thought it best that she stay at home.”

“She broke out on her own. Not that I have to explain . . .”

“Of course you do. You and I are friends, aren’t we?” Vileroy crooned.

“You’re not my friend.”

“We’ve been together for so long, Bicé Faust. I
am
your friend.”

Bicé shuddered at the sound of her own name. Somehow it sounded artificial now.

“You know so many languages,” goaded the governess. “And now you know who I am. Can you figure out my name?”

Bicé turned it all over in her head.
I am your friend . . .

“I am Friend of Faust,”
Bicé whispered and began translating to herself until she arrived at something.
Me Fausto Philos
— Mephistopheles.

It only took a second to regain her resolve. “Look, Nicola. I want to leave. I want out of this whole thing. Just let me go.”

“But you need me. I don’t have to remind you —”

“I’m not making any deals with you.”

“What’s important is the deal you’ve already made. The one you make every day.”

Bicé tried to look Nicola Vileroy in the eye. But she couldn’t hold her gaze.

“You need me,” said the demon-governess, “and we both know you’ll never leave.”

“Point three: The fact that a higher percentage of the dead would be poor is irrelevant.”

Christian sat in the back of the room for Valentin’s next reading. Charlotte had just run in with an iced coffee and three cakes from the coffee shop next door and was making her way to join Christian in the back. She looked flushed and sweaty.

“I can’t wait to hear the next one. He’s so talented. Did you know that he didn’t want to enter? He didn’t want anything to come between us . . .”

“Is that why you didn’t enter?” Christian asked with a look of sympathy. As far as he knew, Valentin had planned to enter this competition for months.

“Yep. And it was worth it. You shouldn’t have missed his first reading. It was amazing.”

Christian listened as Valentin began reading. From the first moment, there was no question in his mind that Valentin would win. It was beautiful, heartfelt, and funny. It made him sad. Not just because he realized that he wasn’t as good, but because all this time, he had been going about things all wrong. He had never written anything good. He had just spent all his energy brooding over Valentin’s successes.

“In conclusion, patent infringement is stealing — even if it’s to help the poor. Even if there are some negative consequences, we live in a society made up of rights and rules. . . .”

Thomas was in shock. He looked over at the Marlowe debate coach with an expression of disbelief. “How — where did she get —?” Victoria’s rebuttals had been so on target, so perfectly tailored to what Thomas had said, that it was hard to believe it was just because she was a good debater. After all, there were only three minutes of prep time between their speeches. How could she have rewritten her speech to refute him point by point in three minutes? And all that data? How did she know?

Just as Thomas was mulling all this over, Victoria was smiling to the judges and leaving the podium. She walked past Thomas, leaned over, patted him on the back, and said, “So much for preparing like a lawyer, huh?” She held his gaze and waited for the words to sink in before she winked at Thomas and walked toward Madame Vileroy.