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Bewitching Black Victorique

—wiretap radio 3—

“The memento box.”

“Memento box?”

“Where is it?”

“Where is the box? If we don’t find it soon, the Academy of Science will beat us to it! I just killed Simon Hunt!”

“The wolves know where it is. Ten years ago, in the winter of 1914, the red-haired wolf came here and hid it. It is somewhere in the monastery. Even after the war, Jupiter Roget has not found it. Neither have we, the Ministry of the Occult. Only the wolves know.”

“The red-haired male wolf and its mate, the little golden she-wolf.”

“The she-wolf has a child. We brought the pup here. To bait the she-wolf.”

“When the pup howls, she will come. The she-wolf—Cordellia Gallo—will come.”

“She’s not coming.”

“She’s not coming.”

“Is Cordelia Gallo even alive? Who saw her last?”

“Only the male wolf knows. Only Brian Roscoe.”

“What if she doesn’t come?”

The room was wrapped in silence. The guests quietly watched Iago’s body.

An elderly female guest looked around. “Where’s the man in black?!” she exclaimed, followed by a shriek.

A middle-aged man stepped forward. Identifying himself as a doctor, he inspected Iago’s body.

“It was most likely poison,” the doctor said. “But there’s no way to be sure until the police arrive.”

“Poisoning? He drank some water right before he collapsed,” Kazuya muttered as he looked at the glass the friar had dropped to the floor. Water had spilled from within.

The crowd stirred. Some glanced down at their own water, while others quickly pulled the glasses away from their mouths.

“But I drank the water I received from a nun,” a young woman said. “There was nothing in it. Only his water was poisoned.” She looked at the person who had given Iago his glass of water—at the old nun, Carmilla.

Carmilla was standing in the corner of the room, trembling. Shaking her head, she made the sign of the cross over and over.

“I-I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“You were also nearby when the young man died!”

“It was my sister Morella who went into the Sisters’ Cabinet with him!” Carmilla denied, disheveling her hair.

Just then, the door across the corridor opened. Light footsteps resounded. Morella, who looked exactly like her older sister Carmilla, her gray hair braided high on her head, entered the room.

“What happened—” The moment she saw Iago lying dead on the floor, she yelped, and made the sign of the cross in the same motion as her sister.

“What happened here, Carmilla?” she asked.

“He drank some water and then started groaning in pain. A large man wearing a black coat with a strange mask came and hovered over him. Then he suddenly collapsed and passed away. The strange man disappeared somewhere.”

“A big man in black, you say?”

The other guests nodded.

“I think he had a weird face, like a fly’s head,” one said fearfully. “It wasn’t a human face. He must have been wearing some kind of mask to hide what he actually looked like.”

“A disguise, then? But where did he disappear to? He just vanished into thin air,” another mumbled.

Morella’s wrinkled face twisted in horror. “That sounds like the legendary Black Death of Beelzebub’s Skull.”

The guests exchanged glances.

“I’ll go get the abbot,” Morella said and left the room. Footsteps hurried away. More and more black-robed nuns gathered, and the room became noisy.

“Two people are dead,” someone murmured.

“The soiree is canceled, and we can’t go home because of the storm. Good heavens.”

“I think the clouds are just about drifting away. The rain seems to be letting up.”

“I suppose.”

Anxious whispers filled the room.

Kazuya left the room and walked down the corridor to check the situation outside. A few guests were outside, while the rest were in the large room. Nuns in black robes bustled past, emerging from one door and disappearing into another.

Kazuya passed by the room with a scarlet door, where a peculiar Mechanical Turk was stored. The door opened quietly, and a small woman in a black dress stepped out.

Her magnificent golden hair, like an untied silk turban, hung down to the floor. Purple laces adorned her dress, and she wore silk gloves of the same purple color, black enameled high-heeled shoes, and a mini hat that looked like a dark purple flower.

“Victorique?” Kazuya called.

The woman turned around.

Quiet and somber eyes, the eyes of a creature that had lived for centuries, gazed at Kazuya. He froze. His hand stopped mid-air before he could give her head a casual pat.

“It’s you, right?” Kazuya asked, unsure.

“Yes. It’s me, Victorique.”

Her voice was beautiful, a little higher than Victorique de Blois’, like a ringing bell. A strange, powerful tension gripped Kazuya. As he stood there staring at the chic, black-and-purple Victorique, she gave a bewitching smile.

Like a predator showing a little bit of its fang.

Kazuya couldn’t speak, couldn’t move a step. He was like a rabbit caught under a large animal’s glare. The woman’s red lips parted somewhat seductively, and she tilted her head a little, studying Kazuya. Her magnificent golden hair swayed.

“You must be Kazuya Kujou,” she said.

“Yeah. Wait, you already know that,” Kazuya finally managed.

The woman snorted, wrinkling her small, pretty nose. Her incredibly thin body, hidden under her lacy, black dress, shifted a little.

“You look like a halfwit. Can you even handle yourself?”

“I-I’m good. Rude as always, I see. Oh yeah, what were you doing in this room?”

Kazuya peered into the room with the scarlet door. Like before, there was a funny-looking Mechanical Turk inside. When he peeked in earlier, its head seemed to turn to him, and he jumped. Now, for some reason, he didn’t feel the same peculiar intensity from the Mechanical Turk as he did when he saw it in this room earlier or in the train’s cargo hold. It just looked like a normal doll attached to a wooden box.

Kazuya watched the doll curiously, when he noticed something strange on the floor. One of the floorboards had been removed, revealing a small square hole. It was as if something was hidden there.

He turned his attention back to the woman. His gaze was drawn to her hands, wrapped in smooth purple gloves, carefully holding a small, red, square-shaped box.

“What’s that?” Kazuya asked.

“A memento box.”

“Really? That’s the memento box? Does it have something to do with the hole in the floor there? You said you didn’t know what a memento box was. No, wait. More like you didn’t have enough fragments or something. Basically making up excuses. Man, you were such a jerk too! So you figured it out? What is it? Let me see.”

Kazuya reached for the box, but the woman slapped his hand.

“Ouch!”

“The box was hidden under the floor of a house in the Nameless Village. Ten years ago, at the outbreak of the Great War, Brian Roscoe went to the village, took it out of there, and hid it in the monastery. Brian had intended to retrieve it immediately, but after the war ended, the monastery became home to the Ministry of the Occult. So it’s remained here ever since. I have just now recovered it. I was just thinking of leaving a replica behind.”

“Is that so…”

The woman chuckled. She didn’t sound like Victorique.

“One of the Academy of Science’s greatest secrets lie hidden in this box. For our own safety, it must not fall to the hands of the Academy of Science or the Ministry of the Occult. It’s our lifeline.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Good question.”

The woman grinned. Kazuya sensed the overwhelming presence of a ferocious beast. It felt familiar.

That’s right. Brian Roscoe. I felt the same thing when I faced him in the clock tower. A mysterious intensity…

The woman took a step back and moved away.

“Hey,” Kazuya called.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Um…”

“Oh, by the way, lad.”

The woman pulled a sparkling, dark purple ring she wore over her silk glove and handed it to Kazuya. Her bewitching and horrifyingly beautiful face contorted.

“Take this,” she muttered bitterly.

“L-Lad?”

“Give it to her.”

“Who?”

“To the girl you’re going home with.”

Kazuya studied the ring he received. Then he gasped. Slowly, he looked up and stared into the woman’s face.

The woman’s emerald eyes still showed no expression, quiet and bored, like some gigantic, ancient creature. But the edges gleamed wetly. Kazuya looked closer.

“The girl…”

“Yes. Give it to her.” Her voice turned higher and sweet, like a ringing bell. “Tell her her mother loves her little girl. That even when she didn’t howl, I came.”

“Co…”

“And tell her that if she can, she should solve the mystery of what happened here. She has the power. Tell her to use it. Tell her to demonstrate her power so that she may live.”

“Cor…”

“I have to go. They must not see another similar-looking woman in the same place.”

She spun. Her black, enameled high-heeled shoes clattered down the corridor. Kazuya snapped back to his senses and scurried after the woman. Her figure, clothed in black and purple ruffles, moved further and further away.

“Wait!” Kazuya yelled. “Please go see her! She misses her mother so much. She always wanted to see her again!”

Kazuya ran down the spiraling corridor.

At the far end of the corridor, the black and purple dress fluttered and vanished. Kazuya stopped, dumbfounded.

He stared at the ring in his hand.

Kazuya returned to the room from which the mysterious woman emerged. The Mechanical Turk was still there. But it lacked the mystical powers it demonstrated when it hit Kazuya on the train or when its eyeballs moved to glare at him. Right now it was just a puppet attached to a wooden box, and when he touched it, its arms remained still.

Kazuya opened the lid of the box. All he saw were springs and gears and screws. He frowned. Then he left the room and started walking again.

When he returned to the large, crowded room, he found Victorique still sitting on the huge suitcase in a corner. Unable to reach the floor, her small feet dangled in the air. Kazuya slowly approached her, wearing a solemn expression.

Victorique’s rosy cheeks puffed up. “I’m bored!” she snapped, pounding his head.

“Ouch! Now, look here. You can’t hit people just because you’re bored. You’re such a handful.”

Kazuya sat down next to Victorique. The huge suitcase didn’t even budge with the two of them sitting on it; Kazuya was small and Victorique even smaller. Kazuya, copying Victorique, flailed his legs back and forth.

“I just want to be sure about something,” he said.

“What is it, halfwit?”

“Call me a halfwit again, and we’re done.”

Victorique grunted in response and looked away.

“You didn’t change your dress and come out of a different room, did you?” Kazuya asked.

Victorique turned her gaze back slowly. Her large, green eyes widened, and she looked eerily at Kazuya’s face. Like a cat approaching a curious toy, she moved her face closer to him.

Victorique wrinkled her pretty nose. “Of course not.”

“I thought so.”

“Are you still suffering from the effects of that stupid smoke? It would be hilarious if it never wore off. I would, however, appreciate it if you didn’t bother me with your nonsense.”

“There you go again.” Kazuya sighed. “Glad to see you’re back to normal, though.”

He stared at Victorique’s face. After a moment of hesitation, he slowly opened his hand, revealing a dark, purple ring.

Victorique’s breath caught. Her glossy, cherry lips quivered as she silently took the ring and placed it on her finger.

“So I passed by the room with the Mechanical Turk, and you came out in a black dress, looking a bit mature.”

Victorique groaned softly.

“She called me lad, and asked if I could handle myself ’cause I looked like a halfwit. She was as rude as you, all right. She gave this to me.”

“…”

“Before she left, she asked me to give this to the girl. And that’s when it hit me. She wasn’t you. But then who was she? She took the memento box that Brian Roscoe hid in that room ten years ago, then walked down the corridor, pretending to be you.”

Victorique gasped. She sprang to her feet and tried to run, but she staggered and plopped down. Kazuya moved toward her.

“Did she leave?” Victorique asked, still down on the floor.

“Yeah. I tried to stop her. I told her you wanted to see her. She left a message, though. Uhm… ‘Her mother loves her little girl.'”

“…”

“‘Even when you didn’t howl, I came.’ She said to solve the mystery. To demonstrate your power so that you may live.”

Victorique hung her head low. Her shoulders shook. Kazuya gingerly pulled her golden head close.

Pressing her nose against Kazuya’s chest, Victorique mumbled something, whimpering, howling.

The little Victorique silently wept in Kazuya’s chest.