Such Wicked Intent (15 page)

He sighs, in wonder or sheer desperation, I can’t tell.

“I hope you’re right. When will… When will it be ready, then?”

Strange, all these sidelong conversations we’re forced to have. He can never meet my eyes. I can gaze upon him, but he can only guess at me. I feel this inequality, but no pity. Our whole lives together, I was unequal to him, but when he returns, when I bring him back to life, things will surely be
changed. The chessboard of our lives will forever be rewritten.

I’m bringing you back, Konrad. Don’t forget that.

“I can’t say,” I reply. “But not long.”

Then he surprises me by turning in Elizabeth’s direction and asking, “You’re sure you’re not opposed to this enterprise?”

She shakes her head.

“You should see her coddling the baby,” Henry says. “You’ll be spoiled when you return to us.”

Konrad gives a laugh. “I can scarcely believe it will work.”

“It will work,” I say, watching the numerous black butterflies flitting from person to person, showing off their colors briefly before darting off. There is such power in these things, so much knowledge to be unlocked.

“Have you heard any more of those noises from below?” Elizabeth asks with concern.

“From time to time,” says Konrad, and I can tell from his face he’s trying to be brave for her. “But no louder than before. Whatever it is, it’s not moving.”

“Let’s not worry about that,” I say. “Tonight’s for celebrating! I’ve slowed the spirit clock. We should have music and dance. I’d play piano, but—”

And with a grin I remember: I have all my fingers here. I’m so delighted, I rush to the piano and sit down. I was never as accomplished as Elizabeth or Konrad, but my hands have a new confidence as they command a waltz from the keys.

When I look up, Henry is dancing with Elizabeth. Circling them like their own little solar system around the sun is Konrad with Analiese. Laughter mingles with my music, and I play
faster. I cannot remember the last time I felt so heedlessly happy. Not for months; maybe not ever. Everything I desire is right here, right now.

“I wish I could dance with you as well, Konrad,” Elizabeth calls out to him.

“Me too,” he says, and then politely adds, “though I’m most pleased with my current partner.”

“You’re very kind,” Analiese replies. “I’m a terribly clumsy dancer.”

“Not at all. But it might go smoother if you let me lead,” Konrad says with a chuckle.

I wonder how their touches feel to each other. Are they cold and dewy, or do they have a human heat to them? I also wonder how much time they’ve spent together here. Surely they must constantly seek out each other’s company, and maybe more. She is very beautiful. Is this truly the first time Konrad has held her?

I feel a thrill of pleasure course up through my arm, and look down to see that a butterfly has settled on my right hand, riding with my fingers as they cavort across the keys, no doubt enhancing my playing.

Beyond the windows I see the mysterious white mist, slowly churning, as if taking an interest in our doings. The glass shudders faintly, but I play louder to drown out the noise.

When I next look up, I almost trip over the keys. Dancing, Henry and Elizabeth fit perfectly in each other’s arms, and I have never seen Henry look so straight and commanding. With every turn on the floor, Elizabeth seems to surrender to him. She smiles, and he says something that I can’t hear, and Elizabeth
laughs, a sound so lovely I want to lock it away so only I can hear it.

Can she actually be trying to make me or Konrad jealous? Is she punishing him for dancing with Analiese? I look at my brother and can tell he’s distracted. Not even death can divide me from his thoughts. Although he cannot look directly upon them, he seems to sense the strange gravity between Elizabeth and Henry. A furrow appears in his brow.

My feelings of loyalty to my brother are quickly vanquished by my own jealousy. When I catch the look Elizabeth now gives Henry, my heart coldly compresses, for it reminds me of that look she gave me, on our first visit to the spirit world. Is the touch of another young man,
any
young man, enough to win such a look from her here?

I want that look upon
me
, and I want what followed—the animal abandon when we but touched.

I will dance with her myself.

I stand, and even though my fingers leave the keys, the piano still plays. In amazement I see, through the propped-open top, several butterflies flitting from string to string, continuing my song.

I laugh in delight and seize a violin from its shelf, taking up the bow. I’ve never studied the instrument properly, but a butterfly comes and settles on my bow hand, and when I stroke it across the strings, music soars from them.

“Ha! Look at this!”

Elizabeth glances over with a laugh. “You’re a prodigy, Victor!”

Is she complimenting me, or mocking me? I cannot be sure. After a few moments I set down the violin and grab a flute from its rack. A butterfly hovers over the stops, and the moment I exhale into the mouthpiece, the most delightful sound flows through it.

Elizabeth does not even react to this new feat, only whispers something into Henry’s ear. He gives her the secretive smile of a man who has received something precious.

I can stand it no longer. I must put an end to their dance. I set down the flute and start to walk toward Henry to cut in. The waltz still careens from the piano, picking up speed. Everyone dances on, laughter and music swirling crazily around me. The very walls of the room seem to colorfully pulse in time to the beat, or to my racing heart. When I take her in my arms, what will happen? Will she pull free? Has she learned to master her desire for me, even here? Or will we embrace and kiss in front of everyone?

I do not care.

I tap Henry on the shoulder. “May I?”

With a maddening confidence he steps back with a bow. I stretch out my hand and see Elizabeth hesitate, fear and desire intermingled in her hazel eyes. Her hand lifts toward mine.

“Take care of the music for us, will you, Henry?” I say dismissively.

“Of course. You’ll need their help dancing, no doubt.”

I turn, an eyebrow raised. “Henry, you envy my accomplishments?”

“Accomplishments? It’s not your own doing. You’re like
Wilhelm Frankenstein, painting his portrait with the help of those butterflies.”

I shrug. “They choose their own master, Henry.”

“Why do they choose to help only you?” he demands, and I’m surprised by the anger that transforms his face.

“I had no part in it, Henry—”

“No doubt you think it’s yet another sign of your brilliance?”

I’d meant to placate Henry, but his insult quickly erases any such intention.

“Why not? They seem discerning little fellows, so why not pick the most able master?”

“Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?” says Henry, taking an aggressive step toward me.

Instinctively I shove him back. “I didn’t know you had such a temper, Henry Clerval!”

Music hurtles from the piano, heedlessly loud and out of rhythm. The whole room seems to tilt slightly.

“You need taking down a peg!” Henry says, furious.

I think I hear Elizabeth laugh. I feel reckless, drunk. Konrad and Analiese have stopped dancing and are staring at us in confusion and alarm.

“A fencing match, perhaps?” I shout at Henry.

“Excellent!” he hollers back. “But you fence alone, without your little winged friends.”

“Fine by me! To the armory!”

“You two, stop this!” says Konrad. “What’s gotten into you?”

But I scarcely hear him, and Henry and I stride angrily out into the hallway. The very walls pulse and flare their history as
we pass, paintings and tapestries and colored plaster, as though reacting to our wild moods. We race each other down the great stairs and along the main corridor. Several times a new wall thrusts itself before us, or an unfamiliar passageway beckons, but each time I hold out my hand and shout, “I will pass!” and the familiar house materializes before me.

As if transported, we’re suddenly in the armory. My blood is up. With a puff of breath I dislodge the butterfly lingering on my finger and seize one foil, tossing the other to Henry.

He is much my inferior; it will not be a fair fight, but I don’t care, so eager am I to scourge that look of contempt from his face.

“Victor, stop this!” I hear my brother say again.

“If Henry wants to reconsider—”

“En garde!”
Henry shouts.

“Whatever happened to our mild little Henry Clerval?” I ask in feigned amazement. “He’s become a fearless warrior!”

“Sirs, please,” Analiese protests. “We’re meant to be celebrating.”

I glance over at Elizabeth, surprised I’ve heard no objections from her, no cries of dismay, and am taken aback to see her watching, silent, her breast rapidly rising and falling, and in her face is the unmistakable look of animal excitement. I almost don’t recognize her.

It unnerves me enough that Henry strikes me against the chest with his bated foil.

“You see! Without the butterflies he’s nothing special!”

The very walls of the armory flash with all the weapons
they’ve ever held—the maces and halberds and sabers—and all that cold hard steel ignites me.

“En garde!”
I snarl, and strike him, in the chest. Then, before he can even parry, I strike him again, and again, the rules abandoned, my only goal now to humiliate him.

“Come on,” I say, knocking his parry out of my way. “Strike me!”

“These are not the rules of play!” he shouts.

“Then make your own!” I dare him, and stab him once more in the chest.

Enraged, he throws down his foil and punches me in the face, sending me staggering to one knee.

Slowly, furiously, I stand. He is waiting, his fists raised before his chin like a pugilist, eyes burning. He is a jacket filled with fury, and I’ve never seen him like this before. All I know is that I want to hit him. Butterflies flutter over my head, as if offering help, but I wave them away. In my mouth is a taste like venom.

Konrad’s voice is anguished. He is standing as close as he dares to us, one hand outstretched. “Henry, Victor! Enough!”

But his words are of no consequence—we are untouchable to him, like gods—and I come at Henry with a yell. He ducks and punches me in the ear. The pain has a sound, as piercing as a scream. Instinctively I clutch the side of my head, raising my arm to fend off another of his blows.

“I’ve been taking boxing lessons,” he says with a wicked smile, “and it turns out, I’m rather good at it.”

I try to strike him, but he nimbly steps back.

“But I had to work at it, Victor. It wasn’t just handed to me by little butterflies.”

He hits me in the shoulder, the stomach, my right flank, until I topple to the floor. I check my face for blood, but there is none.

“Behold how the mighty have fallen!” Henry cries out.

And as he smirks down at me, two winged spirits land on my shoulder, and a terrible power courses through me.

“I have worked too, Henry, and
risked
for what I have.”

He sees the butterflies, and all the swagger leaves him. “This isn’t fair!”

But I will not be humiliated, and I stride toward Henry, whose confidence crumbles even as he raises his fists. He strikes at me, but I smack away his hand as I would a bug, and with my right arm deliver a blow so powerful that his feet actually leave the ground. He flies backward and hits the floor.

Elizabeth rushes to his side. “Are you all right?” she asks, and in her voice is not just concern but also admiration. Has she mistaken him for the victor?

Henry raises himself on his elbows and glares at me. “You
coward
!” he bellows.

“Coward?” I exclaim.

I don’t know whether it’s the insult or the sight of Elizabeth kneeling at his side, but I am completely undone with rage. My head is pure noise—the mad discord of the piano still playing upstairs, the sound of rattling windowpanes, and, from deep beneath the château, an agonized moan that might as well be my own.

“I will not be called a coward!” I roar, and snatch up my rapier from the floor, yanking the guard from its tip.

I rush toward Henry. He sees me coming and tries to scramble up, but I put my foot upon his chest and point my sword at his throat. The fear in his face thrills me.

I am invincible here!

“Take it back!” I spit.

“I—will—not,” he returns through gritted teeth.

With a yell I draw back my rapier, ready to thrust deep.

“Victor!” screams Elizabeth, and I turn to see her with Henry’s rapier in her hand, unbated, aimed at my heart. “Put down your sword!”

“You wouldn’t strike me,” I say.

“Try me.”

I laugh and step back, lowering my weapon.

“Come now,” I say. “This was just play. If it got a bit rough, so what?”

Elizabeth won’t meet my eye, and I feel a keen sting of betrayal, and anger. How dare she try to congeal my power and satisfaction into something cold and shameful.

It takes me a moment to realize that the vibration in my pocket is the spirit clock. It seems as though a long time has passed.

“Our time’s up,” I say, holding the clock up for the others to see.

Our good-byes are subdued. I feel the tug of my talisman, urging me back to my bedchamber, where our bodies await. We hurry along the corridor to the grand staircase, the house strangely placid after its earlier shape-shifting riot. In my bedchamber I recline, my spirit body adjusting itself with supernatural certainty to its counterpart in the real world, and—

*   *   *

Returning, I rubbed at my face and neck, anticipating bruises, but there were none. When I stretched, there was no soreness in my ribs and stomach, either. Injuries in the spirit world, it seemed, did not cross over.

I glanced over at Henry and Elizabeth, and an uncomfortable silence stretched out as the three of us avoided one another’s eyes.

“It seems,” I said after a while, “that we got a little carried away.”