TOULOUSE FRANCE, 2022
Fulvia was wearing a black blazer over tan riding pants with knee-high boots. Her flowing locks made even the quiet air of our humble entryway seem to mirror the turbulent storm going on outside. She had something of a movie star in her, the way she swayed into a room, the way her presence filled it. Her scent was Frangipani, rose and jasmine with a sort of amber middle note.
I looked into the foyer to see Thea halfway down the steps to meet her. I dampened my ears so I couldn’t hear their conversation, but it seemed warm. They disappeared up the stairs, and I returned to my work.
I hadn’t had another commission since Arion’s, so I took to forming up blanks for wands and staves. Most of what I had was consumed in my final year of university. I had also kept back a few golden francs that I had been paid by Samson and needed to extract the gold. Different sorts of devices require different purities. The purest form is called Unalloyed Gold.
I didn’t want to project myself into whatever it was that they were doing or talking about. However, I wondered if Thea was telling her about what had occurred between Fany and me at le Roissy. Part of me hoped she did. The worst thing a woman can think about you is nothing. You can work with hate, disgust, irritation and just about any emotion.
My feelings for Fulvia were complicated and confusing. I was deeply attracted to her romantically. But I was also almost adoring of her. She seemed so powerful, competent, and wise. Everyone respected her, and respect is a social thing. No one earns it widely on accident. It made it hard for me to decide what exactly I wanted from her, which was likely why I was going to fail. Or why I feared I would fail. If I didn’t know what I wanted, expecting her to know what I wanted was lazy and would backfire on me terribly.
It was almost midnight before I heard the soft slippers of Fulvia on the stairs. She glided into my workshop in a silken nightgown and wordlessly walked around, inspecting my tools. I couldn’t decide how I felt about that. I really didn’t understand her effect on me, but somehow her presence was soothing.
Her gown was turquoise and clung to her body so that everywhere she moved, I could enjoy another aspect of her figure.
Fulvia gave the impression of being very old school when it came to social interactions, everyone addressed her with respect and she liked it. But she was still approachable, and despite my trepidations about flirting with her when we first met, there were no calls for my head on a pike. Now she was wandering around my workshop in her nightgown.
“May I be of service, your grace?” I asked.
“Such a clever boy,” she said, holding up one of my wands. It glowed in her hand. “Such delicate and fine work. Like — pine cones.”
“Your grace is too kind; I scarcely deserve such praise.”
Fulvia snorted. I rouged. I also felt angry.
“You are a too humble boy; humility is the truest sin.”
“I didn’t realise.”
“A man should be humbled,” she said, “by life, by a woman, by the Gods, but it is done to him; it is not of him. He should be bold, daring; he should think he can accomplish anything.”
I thought about that for a moment. There was a sort of logic to it. We all know how disgusting an obsequious man was. It was one thing to serve a lord or lady because they are great, and altogether another to serve because you are not.
“Your grace is wise.”
“Wisdom is a thief, mon petit, and intelligence a traitor.”
“I would think it would be the opposite.”
“Oh, mon cheri, a wise man sits on his porch; a smart man never leaves his study.”
“That sounds like a fortune cookie, your grace, and about as obtuse as one.”
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“Somethings take a lifetime to understand. This one should not. Experience dulls you, and you end up bitter and unwilling to get off your porch and go live. Intelligence can make you overthink. It can make you stay all day in your study reading instead of doing. Doing is so much better.”
“I see. Do I give the impression of one who doesn’t do?”
“I wouldn’t bother with you if that was the case. I like your little adventure. It amuses me.”
“What adventure is that, your grace?”
“The poor tradesman who hungers for a life less — ordinary. Who lusts after women and wealth and intrigue. What a saucy little romance.”
“I didn’t realise I was so obvious about it all, your grace.”
“The best stories are obvious. Originality is easy. Finding a great narrative for your life is the point of it all. Deciding what story they will tell about you when you’re gone. It’s the only thing that matters.”
“Thea said you were her teacher. Are you to be mine now?”
A wide grin broke across her face. “Oh, c’est meilleur little beast. Don’t let me cow you. Even I love to look up from my back.” Fulvia moved closer, breathing deeply, torturing me with her warmth. She reached out as if to touch my face but drew her hand back.
“I was surprised you didn’t join us, does the waif not please you?”
I swallowed more loudly than I wanted to.
“I was under the impression Thea was upset with me.”
“Oh, ma bête poilue, c’est vrais — she is. And she isn’t. She’ll overcome it.”
“Thea and I have a relationship of friendship and discretion. We haven’t really sought each other as bedfellows.”
“Then it is I who does not please you?” she asked and leaned against the bench I was working on. She was tall and long, and struck very much the same pose I had seen before when we met at the Green Lion.
“Nothing could be further from the truth; you are divinity itself.”
Fulvia cooed at that. “Such a wordy boy; adoration is so luxurious. I thrive in it. Maybe I’ll allow you to adore me later; I have come to commission something from you. The Snakelette has spoken highly of your talents, and Samson too.” Gods, she could be mercurial.
“The Snakelette?” I had heard several people refer to Thea with that name.
“Thea, that is what we called her ever since she was a little girl.”
“I see.”
“Oh, you are curious about her?” asked Fulvia.
“I am, but I don’t want to intrude on her privacy.”
“She is a very good little snake. I was her teacher. After her father died, she came to live with Charles.” I knew that, but I didn’t want to interrupt her. This was going well.
“You taught her magic?”
“Yes, and how to read and write and be a woman.”
“I thought she had been the protegé of Charles-Francois?”
“She was, and he was a powerful sorcerer, but once she took a name, it was different. And, of course, a man really can’t instruct a girl in everything, just as a woman cannot instruct a boy.”
“That is true, your grace. Why did she stay locked up in the tower?”
“Oh, the boy is very to the point.” She poked me with her finger playfully. “Did we lock her in? Is that what you mean?”
“No, she just told me she had been mostly a shut-in. I didn’t want to pry. But I wanted to pry — your grace.”
Fulvia snorted. “C’est adorable, I think she just — unsettles people. Her face.” Fulvia passed her hand over her own face. “It’s not connected to her heart. People don’t like it. It’s like looking at someone wearing a mask. You can’t see if she’s happy, sad, angry, or scared.”
“True, it was unsettling at first, but after a bit of time, you get the hang of reading her — different levels of a lack of an expression.”
“She wants so much to be liked, but she knows she won’t be. So — why bother?”
“I quite like her.”
“Oh, you hairy beast, I knew it. You only pretend to lust for me. How dare you.”
“I — what?”
Fulvia held her hands out and pumped them in the air as if playing the accordion. There was a sort of swirling green light that formed between her hands and began to take shape.
“Can you make it?” she asked.
She was so deuced mercurial. All I could think was la donna e mobile, qual piuma al vento. Thea did say she was quite mad. I think it made her more beautiful though. I stood up and inspected the item hovering in the air; it was a sort of codpiece of indecent function.
I had heard that ladies of a sapphic persuasion used such devices, but they could be bought in any adult-themed shop. I took out my wand and bisected it in place, turning the parts around. It was devilishly clever; its internal workings were almost the exact opposite of what it was modelled after.
“Yes, I can,” I said.
“I was so very impressed with how you handled Cecily that I knew you could make this. You understand its function?”
I did understand. And it made me sad.
“How long has it been since you were able to draw naturally?”
Fulvia lowered her eyes. There was the slightest hint of a tear.
“Don’t worry, your grace; I can make it for you.”
Her countenance fell. Perhaps I had insulted her; perhaps she felt I was pitying her?
“I need it soon, before the soirée. See to it, boy.” Her voice seemed more hurt than angry. She passed out into the foyer and up the stairs.
I sat on my stool and pulled out my leather-bound design book. I layered the floating object onto the pages slice by slice with my wand. There was a tear in my eye as well, and I wiped it away. I was very sad about what I had learned. So sad I didn’t really mind her calling me boy. It would have bothered me before. It was terrible to see someone so beautiful fading.
She was a succubus. That explained my uncontrollable desire for her. She had lost the ability to feed naturally. What she wanted me to make for her, for lack of a better word, was a straw.