Somewhere on the outskirts of Paris, a little girl stood frozen, her forehead pressed against the cold glass of a second-story window. She was looking down at where life was teeming.
There, on the sun-drenched sidewalk, children were playing and laughing with all their might. She saw a boy grab his father's hand with a giggle, and her heart constricted painfully. Just a year ago, she had been one of them. Everything changed in a single evening, when right during dinner, the plates suddenly soared into the air and began to swirl around her. It happened only once, but that was enough for her room to turn into a prison.
Looking around, she sighed. Her room used to be filled with the chaos of a happy childhood: toys lay everywhere, and cartoon posters smiled from the walls. Now, the room had turned into a vault. Her parents had taken out all the colors, leaving only a bed, a chair, and a heavy Bible.
When she looked out the window again, her gaze caught the figure of a boy on the other side of the road. He wasn't moving and was looking straight into her eyes, despite the fact that she was hidden in the shadow of the curtains.
Adele waved to him, and the boy smiled, waving back. She pulled the curtain aside so he could see her better. But when she looked there again, the boy was already gone. Scanning the street from the window, she saw him nowhere.
— I'm going crazy... — she whispered.
She wandered toward the table to open the only permitted book for the hundredth time, when suddenly a sharp sound erupted from below. Her father's shout was cut off mid-sentence, followed by a heavy, dull thud, as if something massive had crashed to the floor. And then silence fell — thick and terrifying.
When Victor knocked on the door, it was opened by a man in a rumpled shirt, whose face reflected utter bewilderment at the sight of an unfamiliar child.
— Kid? What are you doing here? Do you need help with something?
— Sir, would you like to buy some cookies? — Victor asked in an innocent voice.
The man frowned, shifting his gaze to the boy's empty palms:
— What cookies?
Victor lowered his eyes to his hands, as if he had only just noticed.
— Well, yeah, right... I didn't quite think this moment through, — he slowly raised his head, and a wide, terrifying smile lit up his face, sending a chill down the man's spine. — Well then, I guess I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way.
Victor flicked his hand sharply. An invisible wave struck the man in the chest, tossing him into the air and hurling him deep into the hallway. There was a dull, sickening thud — the master of the house slammed his temple into the sharp edge of a stair and remained lying on the floor.
At the noise, a woman in an apron ran out of the kitchen. Seeing her husband's motionless body, she screamed and rushed to him, her trembling hands fumbling over his face.
— Honey! Oh my God, Jean, wake up! — she raised her eyes in horror to Victor, who stood as calmly as before in the doorway, bathed in the light of a streetlamp. — You... boy, please, call for help! My husband fell! Quick, call someone!
But when the front door behind Victor slammed shut on its own, and the heavy bolt clicked into place with a metallic clang, the woman froze. Her pupils dilated with terror. She opened her mouth to scream, to call the neighbors for help, but the air seemed stuck in her lungs — not a single sound escaped her throat.
In a panic, she backed away, felt for a heavy umbrella-cane in the corner, and held it out in front of her with trembling hands, as if it were a rapier.
— Seriously? An umbrella? — Victor arched a mocking eyebrow and took a lazy step forward. — Unless you're a secret agent from Kingsman, that thing is useless. Want some advice? Go to the kitchen for a knife; I'll wait. That way you'll at least have the illusion of a chance.
The woman was shaking, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Sobbing, she tossed the umbrella aside, frantically tore a silver cross from her neck, and held it out before her, as if hoping to erect an invisible wall.
Victor stopped, looking at the cross, and slowly shook his head:
— Sorry to disappoint you — I'm not afraid of crucifixes either. They affect me no more than an ordinary piece of metal.
The woman collapsed to her knees right there in the hallway. Pressing the cross to her chest, she squeezed her eyes shut and began to fervently whisper the words of a prayer, hoping for a miracle.
— Go ahead, call your God here, — a coldness entered Victor's voice. — I really want to ask him myself: why did he create people like you? People who don't even try to understand their own child, but immediately get rid of her or lock her up like a monster.
When Victor had already placed a foot on the first step, the woman, choking on sobs, lunged forward and gripped his arm with a deathly hold. She shook her head desperately, holding him.
— What? Do you actually want to say something to me after all? — he tossed over his shoulder, momentarily loosening the magical grip on her throat.
— Please... I beg you... — the woman's voice sounded raspy, cracked, but it held the superhuman strength of maternal despair. — Don't touch my daughter! Don't lay a hand on her! She isn't guilty of anything, do you hear? She is just an innocent child!
Victor froze. His eyes widened in surprise, and his hand, raised over the stairs, faltered.
— What did you just say? — he asked, slowly turning back to her.
— Leave her alone! — she whispered, firmly blocking the passage to the stairs, appearing ready to endure any pain as long as he didn't go up. — Take my soul, do whatever you want with me, but don't touch her, I beg you.
Victor went still. His gaze slid across the wall and caught on a photograph in a simple frame: in it, a girl, still very small, was laughing merrily while sitting on her father's shoulders, with her mother beaming with happiness beside them. These were ordinary people. Not monsters.
All his anger suddenly popped like a soap bubble, leaving behind only a bitter residue.
— What am I doing... — he breathed out, and his shoulders slumped.
He looked at the woman sobbing in his path and grimaced guiltily.
— Alright, quiet now, don't cry. I... I think I overdid it a bit. But you have to understand me too, I was caught up in the moment, — he gave an awkward tilt of his head.
He felt truly uneasy. He had burst in here expecting to meet cruel jailers. Instead, he met two terrified parents who, in their own desperate way, were trying to save their daughter from something they couldn't understand.
— This is my fault. I'm sorry, — Victor apologized in the gentlest voice possible. — Listen, I won't hurt her. I swear. I just want to talk to her. She needs it.
The woman wanted to object, but Victor gave a soft wave of his palm. An irresistible, warm drowsiness washed over her. Her eyes closed, and she began to slump toward the floor. Victor caught her, preventing the fall, and carefully laid her on the stairs.
— Damn, I've really made a mess of things, — he whispered, shifting his gaze from the lying woman to her husband in the hallway. — A genius, no doubt...
He sighed heavily and began to slowly ascend to the second floor.
Victor approached the only locked door. As soon as his palm touched the handle, the lock clicked obediently, and he entered. Directly in front of his face, a long stick froze.
Victor paused, looking at the girl, who was clutching her improvised bat until her knuckles were white. He scanned the room and noticed by the wall what remained of her old chair. She had wanted to knock him out with a chair leg.
— Not bad, — he nodded. — But if I were you, I would...
Adele didn't listen. She sharply pulled another piece of the chair from behind her back, thrusting the sharpest edge forward, now aiming exactly at Victor's throat, but it also froze in the air.
— ...have used the pointed part. You're good, — he finished, smiling.
The girl was putting all her weight into the strike, but the sharp splinter stayed suspended in the air, as if it had hit an invisible shield. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she grit her teeth, the fragment wouldn't move a millimeter.
Victor gave a smooth wave of his hand.
— You'll still need that, — he said quietly.
The shards of wood scattered across the floor, and those she held, suddenly came to life. They flew into the air, whistling as they joined together like puzzle pieces. A moment later, the broken chair stood in the center of the room, whole and unharmed. But the magic didn't stop there: the air beside it rippled, and out of nowhere, a second chair materialized — an exact replica of the first.
Now, in her empty, cold room, two brand-new chairs stood instead of wreckage.
— Sit, — Victor pointed to one of them. — I've come a long way, and I'll probably have a mountain of trouble for this, so just listen to me.
Adele looked with interest at the two chairs standing in the room, then turned her gaze to the uninvited guest. Looking into her eyes, Victor didn't see what one would expect from a frightened child. There was only calmness, a hint of curiosity, and something familiar, but Victor couldn't quite remember what.
— Who are you? — she finally asked.
— Strike first, ask later? — Victor smirked. — The right approach, I stand by it myself. Fine, let's get acquainted. I am Victor Moss. A genius, a recently made millionaire, and just a good person.
He faltered for a second, remembering the girl's parents lying on the stairs.
— Though I'm not so sure about that last one anymore.
Victor walked over to one of the chairs and sat down like he owned the place, casually crossing one leg over the other.
— Sit, please. I didn't come to scare you, but to talk.
The girl approached cautiously. She reached out and touched the smooth, polished back of the chair with her fingertips, checking if it would vanish. Satisfied the furniture was real, she looked at Victor and asked gloomily:
— Are you a demon?
— Pfft, think bigger, — he snorted, amused by the situation. — I'm the real deal, the devil himself.
Adele nodded seriously, accepting this as a fact, and began to study the top of his head intently, as if searching for something in his hair. Victor couldn't help but laugh. Giving in to an impulse, bright red curved horns began to slowly grow right from his forehead.
The girl watched their growth entranced, but contrary to Victor's expectations, she wasn't frightened. She only held her gaze on them for a second, then began to look at something with interest through the window behind him.
Victor turned toward the window with genuine bewilderment. He became damn curious: what on earth out there could be more interesting than a guy with horns?
As he turned away, Adele bolted and dashed for the door, but just as she reached it, the door slammed shut with a heavy thud right in front of her nose. The girl grabbed the handle, tugging it with all her might, but it was all in vain.
She slowly turned back and looked at Victor. He was still looking out the window, motionless. The horns on his head began to slowly disappear.
— You really are a clever one, — he said, turning back to her. — You know, up until this moment, only one person has managed to trick me — the greatest wizard of modern times. Now you're officially the second. You can be proud of yourself.
Adele didn't answer; she began feverishly scanning the room for some way to resist him.
— Alright, let's start over, without any nonsense. My name is Victor. And I am a human. Or rather, a wizard. I'm no demon or devil — that was a lousy joke. I just... was trying to drown out the guilt for what I did to your parents.
Adele flinched noticeably, her face turning pale.
— What... what did you do to my parents? — her voice dropped to a whisper.
— Hey, quiet, don't be afraid! — Victor raised his hands pacifically, noticing how she began to tremble. — They are alive. Just sleeping, I give you my word. They'll be fine; they'll wake up in a couple of hours.
Adele stared into his face for a few more seconds, trying to figure out if he was lying or not. Gradually, the tension in her shoulders eased slightly, though fear still smoldered in the depths of her eyes. She took a deep breath, gathered what was left of her will, and approached the empty chair.