Pandora's Box

“So how goes it in here?”

Emile stepped onto the raised platform of the small conference room; laden down with two coffees and a cappuccino topped with fluffy cream and chocolate flakes. Chance was always just a bit more lavish and indulgent than the other two; at that moment he was reclining in his chair as far as it would go without him losing sight of his laptop screen.

“I’ve written the shortlist,” Faye piped up; she gestured to the lined paper covered with her neat lettering, “narrowed it down to ten potential candidates.”

“That’s still too many,” Emile replied. Faye thanked him as he set the coffee in front of her. “We’d have too much trouble trying to reign in twelve.”

“Yes, but I thought we could narrow the list down again, and – and it’s good to have a few reserves in case some of them don’t want to participate.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Emile slid the cappuccino over the table; Chance spun around in his chair to face them and abruptly cradled the disposable cup in his hand, smiling like a cat with a belly full of warm cream. “So who have you got?”

“Well, we all agreed on the Baudelaire orphans.”

“Definitely.”

“Yes.” Chance nodded. “I found them over the weekend.”

“Good, so that’s sorted. And then we have Tom Riddle junior, aka Voldemort.”

“No.” Emile shook his head – a few more times than was necessary. “That guy’s unstable.”

“He was doomed from the start, you guys. Come on.”

“No.” Chance stamped his foot. “No way.”

“Fine.” Faye sighed. “He can be a reserve if absolutely necessary.”

“Excellent.” Emile went to take a congratulatory sip of coffee. “Ah shoot. Hang on guys. I forgot the sugar.”

He stepped out, almost colliding with someone walking by the open door. It was Jade, the group’s pseudo-secretary. There weren’t many pages to file or calls to answer, but she seemed content enough to grab at whatever hours she was given in-between working at the local all-vegetarian restaurant. Emile had been there once on a whim; it wasn’t until he was sitting at a round table next to two very irritating ferns that he realised why his subconscious was so eager to eat there.

“Oh!” they both voiced, stepping backwards in their respective ways; Jade smoothed down her hair and Emile smiled in an all together crooked way.

“Um, sorry about that. I was just stepping out again. Forgot the sugar. You know how bitter the coffee is.” He glanced at her, in the eyes; she smiled. “Is there anything I can get you while I’m out?”

“Oh, a yoghurt biscuit if that isn’t too much trouble. I’ll pay you back of course. That would be lovely.”

“Um, yes. Yes, I can do that.” Jade went to move again. “Um, how? How was your weekend?”

“Oh, well, it was alright. My mum’s wedding is in a few days, so we’ve mainly been preparing for that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s up in the hills. Should be a nice view.”

“Well, that sounds nice.” Emile’s shoes looked extremely interesting from a bird’s eye view; had his laces always been that tattered?

“What about you? Did you do anything – special?”

“Oh no, just the usual. Went for a run, um, caught a movie with Chance and Faye, just...the usual.” Now that he looked his left shoelace was a little dirtier than usual. He managed to raise his head a moment and smiled. “Um, I’ll just be getting the sugar now.”

When Emile reappeared Jade was sitting at her cubicle, writing in her notebook – the team didn’t have anything for her to write up at that moment so he didn’t know what. Part of him hoped it was about him; another part of him hoped, if Jade ever were to translate her soul’s feelings into words, she’d use a blog with photos and imbedded videos she’d made herself. And then there was the third part of him that told him to stop staring at her hair.

“Okay.” Emile stepped into the room again, hands overflowing with sugar packets; behind the door Jade had set the yoghurt biscuit down onto her desk with a smile. “Okay, so where were we?”

“We’d decided that the Baudelaires were a definite yes, provided they want in of course.” Faye tapped her pen against the paper. “And then we decided that Voldemort was probably not a super great idea what with all the killing and maiming. But he will be a reserve if necessary. And then you went to get sugar and then you came back. Which brings us to now. Gimme some of that sugar, by the way.”

Emile chucked a few packets her way, eyes still on the list. “Cool. Great. Well, this is good. We’re actually getting somewhere.”

*

Faye was out on the pretence of buying teabags when she managed to corner him. Large robe tattered from confrontations and burned from spells, bald scalp grey like a particularly ugly rock, fingernails screaming for professional attention, and a wooden stick referred to as a ‘wand.’ Yep, this was the one. Snake nose and all.

She considered him as she stuffed the teabags into her pocket – because dammit, it may not have been her main goal but she didn’t like to lie. It was only when Faye made a show of polishing her tacky flat on her calf that Voldemort noticed her there; some woman with orange-brown hair, a smile that took up too much of her face and an affinity for bright colours.

“Morning. Nice robe you’ve got there. That isn’t quite how togas are supposed to be worn though – if you want some help I can see what I can do.”

Voldemort looked at her; he seemed surprised that this chatty little human-looking thing was addressing him like she might have any of the people milling around the shopping centre a few streets up. Ah, Faye realised, he’s supposed to be invisible. He stared into her eyes – right into her – with such intensity he could only be looking for something.

“You are not a muggle,” Voldemort said in a calm measured voice; it was high-pitched and slightly nasal like a note on a violin. “Nor a witch.”

“No.”

“Do you – I wonder – bleed like muggles do?”

“That won’t work but if you want to – oh okay.”

For Voldemort had just raised his arm; his stance gave Faye the impression that he could break into song at any moment, maybe give a rendition of ‘Be Prepared,’ but alas. “AVADA KEDVARA.”

“Nice lights show,” Faye commented as the spell hit her only to spread out to her sides like two calming jets of hot water. “I prefer the red ones myself but what are you going to do. Hey, here’s an idea. How about you stun me and then we’ll time how long it takes for me to get back up? I’m betting no time at all.” She fiddled with her watch. “This has got an in-built timer if you’re game.”

“Impossible.” Voldemort’s nostrils flared, but he refused to lower his wand. No, that would be admitting defeat.

*

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk about the reserve list properly later.” Emile waved a dismissive hand. “Next?”

“Next is Basil Hallward and Sibyl Vane.”

“Well,” Chance sucked on the inside of his cheek, “when you think about it it was kind of Basil’s fault.”

“Oh that’s so ridiculous!” Faye remarked. “As if he knew that was going to happen. If anything it was Lord Henry’s fault. He encouraged Dorian to be all indulgent and youth crazy.”

“Well, if Basil hadn’t of painted the portrait in the first place, none of it would have happened,” Chance argued; he reclined in his chair as he contemplated. “It’s kind of poetic really; in a way, Dorian and Basil were both the undoing of each other.”

“Like I said, I hardly think Basil knew something like that would happen.”

“I feel worse for Sibyl,” Emile shrugged, “but – fine.”

“Okay good. I’m writing them both down.” She glanced pointedly at Chance. “Next is Frankenstein.”

“As in Doctor?” Chance asked, leaning forward to see the writing on the paper.

“Yes.” Faye could barely contain the impatience in her voice, and she turned to give Chance her full attention. “As I’ve explained before his creation is called Frankenstein’s monster.”

“I wasn’t really sure about putting him on the list the first time, guys,” Chance admitted. He shrugged and sought stability in his cappuccino cup; a foam moustache outlined his thin mouth when he resurfaced. “He was a genius and everything but kind of stupid.”

“He was blinded by ambition, Chance,” Emile attempted to reason.

“Well, come on.” Chance stood up, appearing to gain confidence and momentum the higher he went. “When has plundering cemeteries and reanimating dead bodies ever been a good idea? I mean, if someone were to say to you” – he gestured towards Emile – “‘Hey guess what I’m doing tonight. Reanimating corpses!’ do you really think you’d say ‘Well I was just going to watch Desperate Housewives, but that sure sounds great!’ No, I don’t think you would.”

“Fine, another reserve. Geez.”

*

“Rest assured Doctor Frankenstein, we have temporarily rendered Voldemort powerless. However he has been attempting to push peoples’ eyeballs in with his thumbs, so just be wary of that.”

Faye walked out of the room in search of refreshments, leaving Emile to watch over Frankenstein and Voldemort. The two didn’t speak to their makeshift jailer – only glanced at him occasionally, Frankenstein with vague terror and Voldemort with vague homicidal rage.

“This is magic of the likes I have never seen before,” Voldemort commented; a dash of curiosity mingled with his rage. “My attempts to kill the woman have gone unrewarded. They’ve parted me from my wand and taken away my power, trapped me in this room. And you, they say you’re a doctor.”

“Why, y-yes I’m a doctor of science. I created a – a monster out of the body parts of the deceased. I-I was blind, so blind, by- by my own genius.”

“Only one?” The skin where there should have been an eyebrow on Voldemort’s face arched. “Pathetic. I had armies at my command.”

“What do they want with us?” Frankenstein turned to face Emile, face pale and eyes wide under the fractured light coming in from the inadequate window; whether from fear of the snake-faced man or plain disinterest, he wasn’t content to listen to Voldemort’s horrifying tales. “Have I not suffered already for my misdeeds? And then there is you” – he pointed blindly at the wizard – “you who speaks of such – such evil, of bodies and wands and magic-”

“We have a proposition for you,” Emile piped up from beside the door, leaving Frankenstein to babble off into silence. “In a few short moments you’ll have more companions to terrify, Mr Riddle. And, just so no-one here feels left out, I’m sure they’ll be just as scared witless as you, Doctor Frankenstein. You can have some fun times bonding over that. And once they’re all here we’ll tell you what our proposition is. Ah.”

Chance’s face appeared through the small window in the door, triumphant smile and two perplexed people following him. The new additions were both dressed too elaborately for the season, both sweating underneath jackets and bodices. They shrank away and tried to hide in the nonexistent shadows when they spotted the glaring face of Voldemort.

“What is it?” Sibyl asked, in hushed tones.

Chance turned to Emile. “I was thinking we should-”

“Put them in the other room with the Baudelaries? Maybe put Voldemort in stasis?” Emile supplied. “Yep. I thought so too. Just wait a moment or two though. Faye’s getting beverages. But thank you for that, butler, that shall be all for now.”

“Colossal ass.”

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“Hey.” Chance was buffeted aside as Faye appeared; she’d slid down the banister of the stairwell, and her hair was now draped with cobwebs. The delicate strings hung over her head like an interesting take on a hat one would wear to the horse races, the patterns differing from thin and barely there to thick where the spider had gotten a little indulgent with its thread.

“Keep it that way,” Chance suggested when Faye noticed. “It looks kind of cool.”

She ignored him. “So who wants lemonade? There’s enough for all of you but unfortunately you’ll have to share a cup.”

Voldemort met this proclamation by lunging at Basil and attempting to push his eyeballs in with his thumbs.