The Faustian Love Bargain (COMPLETED)

Volume 2, Chapter 2

Nick went home. He never came to this house often. As the car drove through the large metal gates, up a long slope, past a vast garden, and finally past the massive fountain into a grand lobby, he thought how magnificent his house was. 

“Welcome home, Sir,” a middle-aged lady opened his car door and then took his jacket by her arm. He did not recognise her instantly but soon realised that she was Mrs Adams.

“Good evening, Mrs Adams,” he answered, smiling slightly. 

“What a honour that you should recall who I am,” she replied excitedly, “If there is anything I could remark, it would be that you have grown to be much more handsome!”

There was not anyone who disagreed on that point. After a year, it was as if he did not age but had blossomed even more. He knew that it was because his interior was turning uglier and uglier. He was a hateful and lonely person, and he had avoided all social contact with others. Kaela had visited him a few times in his isolated apartment and he had almost hurt her. His powers grew uncontrollable. Things would fly in midair suddenly and glasses would crack. He needed help, and he had no one to turn to except his parents.

When he entered, the lights switched on automatically. There was no one in the living room but he could sense that there were people talking in the secret basement. 

Within seconds, his mother, Jean Deslunger, appeared before him. She had teleported from the basement, he supposed. 

“I’m sorry, dear. We should have planned a celebratory party for you but things cropped up suddenly,” she said and embraced her son. She was more beautiful and stunning than before, and he wondered if that was because he had not seen anyone for almost a year.

“That’s fine,” he said, rather detached.

“You’re not fine,” she looked at her son, worried. She was happy, of course, that he had decided to return home. No one had dared to go near him when he was angry. She knew even her powers could not control his wrath. 

Nick walked around the house and asked blankly, “What cropped up? Too many deaths in some city? So Dad’s going to ask someone to change those numbers? Or someone has killed a few too many and got noticed?”

She frowned, “No. Someone got killed. Someone of our kind.”

Nick laughed, “Suicide? That’s pretty likely.”

“No, it’s a murder. And it’s probably one of us who killed him because he was an aristocrat,” she explained when a group of men teleported into the living room. Among them were the usual heavyweights- George Kwan, Paul Riravanja, Joseph Bishop, Henry Carolle, Colin Deslunger, Harold Grange, Fred Lee, James Parker, William Mousseur and his father, Anthony Smith.

They looked at him and took turns to say how nice it was to see him after so long. Nick knew that they saw him as a mad child because rumours had spread like wildfire. 

“Ah, it’s a pity that the heir of the Aswalds should die so early. It will be a waste if Mr Smith does not take good care of his health,” Mr Riravanja told his father. 

“He is just facing growing up issues. How is dear Helen?” he replied. 

“Wasting her life away as a painter,” he chuckled and then the men slowly teleported away as his father said goodbye.

His father turned to him seriously and said, “There is something you are hiding from us, am I right?”

Nick was confused. His father walked to the coffee table nearby and laid out a few photographs. They were pictures of Bently Aswald and in the middle, there was Stella’s picutre.