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1992
It was a joke, of course. It wasn’t going to be just the two of them painting each other’s asses for all eternity.
Something else would come along, surely. Some spark of opportunity would lead their way out of the black pit of obscurity and disappointment. It happened to both of them time and time again, through school and careers and relationships, until they’d found the literal elixir of life. Madeline refused to believe that those few hours between the drinking the potion and being pushed down the stairs to be the apex of her existence. It was ridiculous. Preposterous. Laughable.
Still, as she and Helen sat together in the wake of Ernest’s fleeing the coop, Madeline allowed herself a second or two to believe that that was their future. From the sudden quiet coming from Helen beside her, she must have been doing the same.
Then the moment passed and Madeline said, “Ernest may have been the best, but he’s not the only one.”
“Of course he isn’t,” Madeline agreed. “This is LA.”
1993
“There’s only one card left.” Madeline plucked said card of the Ernest’s rolodex to peer at the name. “Whose turn is it?”
“Yours,” Helen said promptly. She was on the other side of Ernest’s ransacked office, digging through a box, and looked relieved that Madeline had found something. “I worked the last one, remember? Henry what’s-his-name.”
Madeline considered arguing that Helen should take this one, too, since Henry didn’t tell them much that they didn’t already know. Formaldehyde, embalming, fillers and all were well-covered by now. They didn’t need the typical tricks of the trade, which seemed to be all that Helen could squeeze out of their last mark.
Helen noticed Madeline’s hesitation, and said, “Don’t you try to get out of it. We know that Ernest wasn’t the only mortician in town to use spray paint. We just need to find one who’s also… an artist.”
“I doubt it’ll be this one, not with this card.” Madeline knew she had a point; the black and white business card teetered uncharitably towards dull instead of classy. “Why the hell didn’t Ernest make more connections?”
“Why the hell didn’t Ernest make proper notes on his work!” Helen gestured at the office around them. “That would’ve been more useful.”
“Stop sitting like that,” Madeline snapped. “You know it loosens the padding in your stomach.”
Helen made a face at the rebuke, but slinked her posture into a more upright position. “Fine. We need an artist. Don’t you know make-up people in the business?” She scoffed at her own question, and amended: “Do you know props people in the business?”
“Do I look like someone who knows people who handle props? Aren’t artists more your circle? You… creative types.”
“Not that kind of creative, Mad.” Helen glanced at her watch. “I need you to touch up my back, I have to leave for dinner in a few.”
Madeline groaned, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t know that Helen was having dinner with her writer acquaintances that night. Helen always made a point of stocking up the right shades of brown before big outings, the way that Madeline always made a point of stocking up industrial tape to bind her neck for the same.
“Fine.” Madeline stood up, and wobbled a little on her feet. Her right ankle hadn’t been the same after the third fall a few months ago, but hell if she would stop wearing heels simply because of that.
Still, Helen’s room – the one she’d been living in after Ernest’s cowardly escape – was one floor down, and just thinking about that walk irritated Madeline.
“We should set up the studio here,” Madeline said. “Burn everything we don’t need and keep all the supplies in one place. Not that we have any problem with breathing nowadays, but it would be nice to not have to deal with thinner fumes in the bedrooms.”
Helen nodded. “That’s an idea.”
A proper studio, with proper lighting. Or at least, adjustable lighting, so they can see what they’re doing but also not melt each other’s faces.
Madeline glanced back at the last business card with distaste. She’d probably meet the man on the card to cover their bases, but after that she’d look elsewhere. Showbiz props people would at least be more entertaining than morticians, and Madeline hadn’t burned all her bridges in Hollywood yet.
1995
Madeline was sprawled on her favorite chaise, partaking of the day’s wine, when the clack of Helen’s heels announced her return from her outing. When Helen appeared through the doorway, she had a box in her arms, which she dumped on the closest table.
“You will not believe this,” Helen said excitedly.
Madeline put her glass down. “Hmm?”
“Finally found the right shade.”
“What?” Madeline rose to her feet. “Where’d you find it?”
“Carla gave a lead, and I went to check it out.” Helen tossed the box lid aside and pulled out the long tail of a hair extension, the strands fine and billowing as it moved in the air.
“Oh!” Madeline gasped and held her hands out, allowing Helen to place the extension in her palms. The fair platinum hair was soft to the touch, and Madeline quickly lifted it to her shoulder to compare it against her own. It was an excellent pass, and a far cry from the tawdry blondes that they’d looked at for months.
“The texture’s exquisite, isn’t it?” Helen said.
Madeline squinted at Helen suspiciously, even as she stroked the tail of hair. “You’re about to ask for something, aren’t you?”
Helen didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she sat down and smiled. Her face paint cracked faintly around the mouth, but she kept on smiling.
“Oh god,” Madeline gasped. “You want your eyes painted.”
“Thank you for offering, Madeline,” Helen said sweetly. “I really appreciate it.”
“The pupils aren’t even flaking yet!”
Helen opened her hand. “Then give me the hair back.”
Madeline clutched the extensions against her bosom, and Helen smiled.
“You’ll put the hair on, terrorize your favorite boutiques for a weekend,” Helen said. “Isn’t that all worth it for a few little strokes of the brush?”
It was easy for her to say that, because she wasn’t the one who had to deal with Helen’s eerie unblinking irises. Madeline’s neck and lower back may have the consistency of silly putty these days, but scaffolding was easier to manage than eyes.
On the other hand, Madeline would indeed enjoy an outing with her spruced-up hair. They’d only just recently figured out how to sew in hair extensions after the slow-paced tutorials with wigmaker Carla, so it would be a shame not to take advantage of that.
“Fine,” Madeline said. “But you’re doing my hair afterward.”
“Naturally.”
1999
The invitation came in the mail, as it had every year in early spring. Helen found it in the mail first, and brandished it over breakfast. The eggshell-white card was beautiful and elegant, with gold filigree and only the address printed dead center. Lisle had a new mansion in LA this year, which must be quite the location if it’d compelled her to move from the previous one.
Helen was excited at the new location for the party. Madeline, however, took one look at the card and said: “I’m not going.”
“What?” Helen started. “Why not?”
“Are you kidding me? Lisle is going to see us.”
Helen turned to the nearest mirror in the room, which was a full-length, gilded piece built directly into the wall. Madeline followed the motion, and in doing so noted that the reflections in said mirror could at least be identified as women. But any further detail from that was a little… tricky.
Yet Helen said, “I think we look fine.”
Madeline laughed. “You’re so deep in denial—”
“Oh, Mad,” Helen said with a laugh, “sure, they may have discontinued the exact paint shade for your skin, but we just need to keep looking for a replacement—”
“It’s not just the shade!” Madeline said. “It’s not about the shortcuts, either – long sleeves, turtlenecks, hats. None of that would work at Lisle’s parties. Last year was fine, we toed that line and got through it. But this year? No. I’m done.”
“Madeline…”
“They talk about us, you know. I can tell.”
“You would,” Helen said, though she backed away a few feet in case Madeline decided to throw something at her. Madeline didn’t take offense at that, since neither of them could afford to snap another body joint at this point. Joints were vastly more difficult to fix than even the trickiest skin tone.
“Yes, I can. Lisle indulges us, not because we’re her clients, but because we’re an example to the others. A warning of what will happen to them if they don’t take care of themselves.”
Helen clenched her jaw, then stopped when she heard a faint cracking sound. “We could be a warning. Maybe. But even if we are, we have to see her. Maybe she’s found something during her travels.”
“If she had, she would’ve told us.”
“Maybe the fix has a bigger price tag! Maybe she was saving it for when we really deteriorated—”
“Dammit, Hellen, just because you’ve known Lisle longer doesn’t mean she’s your friend. She’s running a business, that’s all, and if she could’ve gotten money out of us for a fix, she would’ve told us as soon as she had it. You know I’m right.”
“I don’t know you’re right,” Helen countered.
Madeline leaned back in her chair, and automatically adjusted the back of her skull before she hit the headrest. Fighting with Helen was all well and good, but Madeline had even less taste for this than their usual sniping over former lovers and ill-painted body parts and keeping each other’s things out of each other’s space in the mansion. Helen had always been slow to recognize a defeat and turn her attention elsewhere, after all.
“I’m not going,” Madeline said. “But you should go, because maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right, and then you’ll come back and lord it over me forever. But I am staying here.”
The fight faded from Helen as well. “Okay. I’ll go and talk to Lisle.”
Maybe it would go well for Helen. She could probably pass muster at the party, even without covering up from neck to ankle. She’d just need a stronger rose shade on her cheeks, touch-ups on her hair and a new coat over her eyes and lips.
“I’ll do your face,” Madeline said. “Your cheekbones need work, right there.”
Helen patted her cheeks. “You think so?”
2004
Madeline’s right ankle finally called it quits and then, only then, did she hobble over to Helen’s room, bang the door twice before flinging it open, and say, “You still have that thread of yours?”
Helen was reading a magazine on her bed, but looked over at Madeline’s hands, which were holding her detached foot. “Oh, now you’re okay with needle and thread?”
“No, I am not okay with it,” Madeline snapped. At a distance it was impossible to tell that two of Helen’s fingers were held in place with flesh-colored thread, and that firmed her resolve. She had resisted stitching for months due to the Frankenstein-esque implications, but she’d rather have thread than cement, which would be hell to file into shape if she wanted to keep using her usual shoes.
“Downstairs?” Helen suggested.
“Yes, that would be lovely,” Madeline replied.
The touch-up studio was still vital for messy work, but sometimes, and especially if no one had misplaced any supplies lately, they took their non-messy touch-up work downstairs.
Madeline was especially fond of the ballroom, and was of the opinion that Helen agreed despite her occasional complaints of the décor. (The two life-sized paintings of Madeline on the wall simply added to its character, that’s all.) It was a comfortable space, airy and well-lit, and they’d moved a settee here a few years back so they could work while the projector played the evening’s selection of movies.
Tonight, Helen picked one of her old noir favorites, a mystery story that Madeline didn’t care much for. Madeline kept her calf in Helen’s lap for Helen to reattach the foot, while Madeline whiled away the time going through the latest catalogue of swatches she’d gotten from a new paint supplier in town.
Helen’s stitches were clumsy, which was inevitable because some of her fingers had only recently been reattached. But she completed the turn with little fuss, and then sat back and said, “All right, how’s that. How’s the movement.”
Madeline lifted her calf and rotated the heel. The movement was slightly unnatural, but their bar for ‘acceptable’ was somewhat lower these days.
“Standing test,” Madeline declared. She braced one hand on the settee’s hand rest as she put both feet on the ground and pushed herself to a standing position. She was unsteady for the first second or two, and unsteadier still for the first few steps forward. Even so, she shrugged. “It’s doable.”
“Of course it is,” Helen said. “Anyway, I’ve been looking at industrial cables. Glue and thread will hold your ankle for a while, sure, but only on the outside. If we combine it with more surgical thread and internal cables then—”
“No,” Madeline said. “Definitely not.”
“No? Oh, I’ve just fixed your ankle for you and you’re not even going to hear me out?”
“Not if you’re talking about stringing us up like – like telephone poles!”
“What bright ideas have you had recently, hmm?” Helen stretched back against the settee lazily. “The sewing was me. The plaster filler was me. What are you bringing to the table?”
“I,” Madeline said, “am going to find Ernest.”
Helen stared. “Ha!”
“He will have let his guard down by now. And he’s old, easier for us to kidnap—”
“No.”
“Oh, now who’s the one who’s not hearing the other one out?”
“It’s been years, Madeline,” Helen said. “You thought he could come crawling back to us, but he didn’t. You thought he’d come crawling back to his money, but he didn’t. If he didn’t drink himself to death, then he made a clean break on every front and we’re never ever going to find him.”
“Don’t you dare turn down my idea. Did I stop you when you wanted to ask Lisle for help?”
Helen gasped. “You’re bringing that up now?”
“Searching for Ernest is no different. You may be happy with patching yourself up piece by piece, but I’m looking for a grand solution that won’t go obsolete overnight.”
“Like Siempre Viva?” Helen said drily. “That was once in a lifetime. We’ll never find anything like that again.”
“Easy for you to say, you had seven years to enjoy that body!” Madeline snapped. “I had it for, what, two hours?”
“Easy for me to say?” Helen rose to her feet. Anger didn’t flush her skin anymore, but boy did her face keep trying. “Easy for me to say? Those seven years were the least I was owed after all the years that you took from me—”
“Oh, now who’s the one dredging up old news? No one cares about that anymore.”
Helen’s unblinking, unpainted eyes were almost white. She stared, and stared some more. The skin around her eyes twitched as she did.
“What?” Madeline said, discomfited.
“I just had a moment,” Helen said quietly. “That this is forever. Never really understood what that could mean until right this second. You, like this, forever.”
“No, it’s you like this, forever,” Madeline countered. “I am trying to think beyond these little piecemeal solutions, these arts and crafts for the unliving, which we are not good at! We never have been. You might have been able to settle—”
“I am not settling!”
A crack filled the air. Both of them looked down at Helen’s stomach, where a bulge protruded forward as the padded filing slipped out of its spot. Madeline sighed and stepped forward to help, but Helen backed away, a hand up to stop her.
“I’m done,” Helen said.
“With sawdust padding?” Madeline asked.
“With you. With all of this.” Helen made as though to take a deep breath. “You can crumble to dust for all I care.”
Madeline frowned, but lifted her chin. “Fine.”
“Fine!”
Helen finally blinked, and turned to leave. Madeline watched her go, a little off-balance from this slight amendment to their usual script. It was more familiar to have one of them try to knock the other’s limbs off, or at least threaten to do such a thing. But Helen merely walked out of the ballroom and didn’t come back.
Madeline eventually went looking, and though most of Helen’s things were still in her room, Helen herself was nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe both of her feet fell off?” Madeline said out loud.
2005
The private detective was a broad, stocky man named Dennis something-or-the-other. Madeline found him through the phone book, but didn’t meet him in person until he had something to report.
With that report came Dennis’ first and only visit to the Ashton mansion. He was a professional man, well-dressed and clearly used to the trappings of Hollywood eccentricity, but he still double-taked a little when he saw her.
“Skin condition,” Madeline said flatly.
“None of my business, Ms. Ashton,” Dennis said, recovering with a quick clearing of his throat. Madeline led the way to the sitting room, where Dennis opened up his business bag. “So, about Dr. Ernest Menville.”
“Yes, yes,” Madeline said impatiently. “Is he dead?”
“No, he isn’t,” Dennis said. “He’s alive and—”
“Fine, where is he right now?”
“I can’t be sure where he is exactly right now but—” Madeline was about to demand what the hell she’d paid Dennis for, when he said, “—I can tell you where his family is.”
Madeline started. “What?”
Apparently, there was a great deal for Dennis to talk about. The most Madeline had expected was a sad, squalid apartment somewhere, with Ernest worn down but ripe for the plucking. Instead, Dennis presented a most unlikely tale of a life even more unglamorous than Ernest’s pathetic (though useful) undertaker career move.
Madeline would have called it bullshit, except Dennis had photos. Many, many photos, put in a folder for Madeline to browse through.
“He was using an alias for a while,” Dennis said. “But for the past few years he’d gone back to using his legal name. Possibly because of the kids.”
Madeline pointed at the device Dennis had put on the dining table. “What is that?”
“My laptop.” At Madeline’s look, Dennis added, “A computer? A… personal computer, with…? Ah. Hmm. Well, look.”
Dennis turned the laptop to show Madeline the screen, and he moved between files to show her the collated information on Ernest. But that information was unexpectedly less interesting than for how it was being presented to her. Dennis, who was being paid by the hour, explained that, too.
“You found that on the ‘internet’,” Madeline said slowly.
“Not all of it,” Dennis said. “Like I said, Dr. Menville was very careful in the first few years after he left LA. But since he’s started these philanthropy projects he’s been—”
“And you can find anyone? They just… put their information out there?”
“Not everything’s out there, but yes, there is a lot you can find online.”
“Can you find…” Madeline’s mind offered a name from the cluttered boxes of her Hollywood memories, of the raven-haired harlot who stole her role in that Regency film that she’d been perfect for. “Evelyn Seaworth? The actress?”
Dennis typed Evelyn’s name and clicked some other buttons that Madeline didn’t quite catch. The screen changed, and filled up with headshots and candids of the dear Ms. Seaworth arranged in a neat little gallery. Madeline, having paid at least some attention, tapped at the mouse pad to scroll down to view.
“She looks like that now?” Madeline placed a hand at her own waist. It was supported by scaffolding and glue, yes, and tended to flake if she went out in the sun for a few hours, but it was also as slender and trim as a twenty-year old’s. Wasn’t that the most important part? “My, my. That’s interesting, isn’t it. How marvelous.”
“You know what.” Dennis pulled out his cellphone and tapped away at the buttons. “Let me connect you with someone.”
“Oh, and there’s one more thing I’d like you to do.”
“About Dr. Menville?”
“No. Well, sort of. There’s someone else I want you to find.” Madeline didn’t have to do this at all, and truth be told she still thought it more likely that Helen, not having the resources that Madeline did, would surely have fallen apart and the pieces lying in some ditch somewhere. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask. “Helen Sharp, an author, used to live here in LA. I want you to find her, and to give her everything you’ve just given me about Ernest.”
“All right, is that all?”
“You can tell her that…” Madeline looked at the most recent photo of Ernest that Dennis had been able to dig up. Ernest’s obnoxious little face with his obnoxious little eyes and obnoxious little moustache was mostly as she remembered it, except it was also far, far worse. That broad smile made him look ridiculous, but not ridiculous enough. It wouldn’t be easy to trap that man beneath the heel of her boot if she went after him.
“Tell her that I’m letting him be,” Madeline said.
2006
If there was some other universe where Madeline Ashton had never been introduced to Siempre Viva, she would, by this point in her life, be holed up in her grand Hollywood mansion, reminiscing about the good old days, driving around LA in her car with darkened windows, and having nothing more strenuous in her daily agenda than having no-signature-required deliveries sent to the house.
In this universe, where Madeline Ashton had taken Siempre Viva, she still did all of the above, but she did so with eyes that worked far better undead, no pain in any part of her body, and the improbable stamina of youth that allowed her to stay up and about at long hours.
It was also true that she had to regularly sew, staple, glue or cement parts of her body back on, but! She was mobile. She never got out of breath. She could drive herself instead of relying on someone else.
Simply put: her limbs may constantly threaten to crack and break, but even if they did, they still worked.
Madeline was always going to turn into a recluse anyway, following the deal she’d made with Lisle. This wasn’t the ideal way for that to have happened, and she hadn’t gotten the full ten years of glory she’d deserved, but this was still… workable.
Madeline existed, and adapted.
She also had, per Dennis’s contractor recommendation, the internet installed at the mansion. It was also Dennis that connected Madeline with people who could advise the unfamiliar about computers, though Madeline went through almost half a dozen before she finally landed on one who didn’t burst into tears at the first hint of the mildest, gentlest criticism – a young woman who reminded her of Rose, in the good ways – and from there a new window opened for her to view the outside world.
Better yet, Madeline could glimpse into and, if interested, pry further into parts of that outside world that she’d never known or thought about before. In the old days, she wouldn’t have bothered with any of this, but with an empty house and no guests to speak of, Madeline had a lot of time to kill.
Helen was probably still a ditch somewhere, crumbling to nothing.
But if she wasn’t, perhaps she was exploring the world on her own terms, too.
2007
The phone call came late one afternoon. Madeline would’ve let it ring, but she happened to be in her bedroom, within a couple of paces from the nearest phone.
She picked up. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” said Helen.
Helen’s voice was clear as a bell, and recognizable from the first syllable. The sound struck like a shot of adrenaline, the way it always did whenever Helen showed up out of the blue, no matter that Madeline’s heart hadn’t pumped blood in years.
“What do you want?” Madeline asked.
A pause. “I saw Ernest.”
Madeline startled in surprise, so hard that she felt a staple in her side pop out. “What?”
“I had to see it for myself.”
“What on earth for?”
Helen laughed. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to see?”
“No, it was not,” Madeline snapped. “I got a laugh out of it. Thought you might, too.”
“A laugh? Ernest made a new life and you thought I’d get a laugh out of it?”
“A new life?” Madeline scoffed. “You call that life? That’s mediocrity. Ernest couldn’t make it with a real career, with real success. Worse than mediocre – he was boring. So of course he’d end up finding people who’d indulge in that mediocrity. They flock together, you know.”
Helen was silent. Madeline held the phone close to her ear, but there was nothing to hear, not even the rustle of clothing.
“I made Ernest into something,” Helen said. “I helped him with his career. You, you’re the one who—”
“Oh, come off it, Helen. The outcome would’ve been the same if he’d stayed with you. You might have propped him up for a little while, but it wouldn’t have lasted, and he would’ve dragged you right down to the pits with him, the way he did with me. Ernest didn’t hunger – he didn’t believe that he deserved more. Not that way that you know you deserve more.” Madeline knew the words were true the moment she said them. “Or the way I do.”
“That is a nasty thing to say, Mad,” Helen said, but she didn’t sound angry. In fact, she sounded interested, almost despite herself.
Madeline clutched the phone tighter. “What did you really see, Helen?”
“I… I realized that I never knew Ernest. Not really.” Another pause. “And that I didn’t want to know, if that was who he is.”
Madeline huffed. “Aren’t you glad, then?”
“Perhaps.”
Madeline had wondered if Helen would make contact again. It was just a reasonable supposition that their lifetime habit of reunions would’ve continued into the unlife, complete with expectations of superiority and aloofness.
This was a reunion, yes, but it wasn’t the same. The same vicious urge to claim satisfaction didn’t seize Madeline the way it used to.
“Come home, Helen,” Madeline said. “I’m still here.”
There was a click as Helen hung up.
Not half a minute later, the doorbell rang.
Paula was in the house, so she answered the door. Madeline was out of the bedroom and coming down the elevator when she heard Paula’s greeting and Helen’s crisp, “Skin condition,” followed by the clack of heels as Helen entered the foyer.
Force of habit had Madeline tugging the hem of her blouse as she stepped into the foyer. Helen was there, standing tall and only peeling slightly as she removed the large hat from her head.
“What is that?” Madeline asked.
“Prosthetics. Robotics.” Helen shrugged. “Much easier for movement.”
“It makes your legs look like tree trunks.”
“Your hair looks like a carpet. Texture’s all wrong.”
Madeline smiled, and Helen did, too.
Wordlessly, they stepped towards each other, with Helen offering a hand and Madeline taking it as they moved to the dining room. A drink would not go amiss at this point.
“Who’s the munchkin?” Helen said.
“That’s Paula, a PA, sort of,” Madeline said. “She’s not here all the time. I just have her on occasional errands – drink, clothes, library books.”
Helen laughed. “Library books?”
Madeline nodded without elaborating, which made Helen’s expression shift from amusement into curiosity. At the bar, they poured drinks for each other and Helen commented on the few changes to the mansion that had been made while she was away.
“Still, it is mostly the same old place,” Helen observed.
“Because it is,” Madeline agreed. “Just like how I’m still me, and you’re still you. In fact, you came back precisely because—”
Helen rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to say something awful, you can save it.”
“You came back, because we’re the same,” Madeline said. “We want to be our genuine selves. No, not these piles of bones held together with duct tape, but who we are inside. We both know damned well what we deserve.”
Helen blinked slowly, as though Madeline’s words were as soothing as the drink she was sipping. “Yes.”
“Those… robot legs? Those working for you?”
“Maintenance’s a bitch,” Helen admitted.
Madeline nodded sympathetically. “I don’t need you, Helen. No more than you need me. But we’re the only ones who understand how much we want the best for ourselves. And how far we’re willing to go to get that.”
Helen was intrigued. Up until Helen’s unexpected phone call, Madeline had assumed that she’d have to do the next part alone. But it was better with Helen. It always better with Helen.
“I know myself,” Madeline said. “And I’d go pretty damn far to get what I want. How far are you willing to go?”
“Pretty damn far,” Helen whispered.
“Then let me tell you what I’ve been looking into.”
2008
They were serious about it this time. Not that their previous efforts weren’t serious, per se – it was just that this time they were thinking beyond the cosmetic fixes, and making the most of the resources that hadn’t existed before. Madeline’s questioning leads splintered through different branches of opportunity, but Helen provided the second pair of eyes in narrowing down the route to exactly where they needed to be.
Also, it was nice to be able to paint each other’s backs again.
2010
It took them a few days to set up the pool house the way they required. As always with their new projects, there was a little trial and error involved, especially when handling materials that they weren’t familiar with.
But once ready, the lights were dimmed, the candles lit, the chalk circle completed. They stood outside the painted circle, with Helen holding the printout with the words that they needed to chant.
Again, there was some trial and error with pronunciation, but they got through the long list, and Madeline threw the bowl of herbs into the flame, which flared and hissed with smoke.
“We present to you an offering,” they said in unison. “Arise, and arise, and arise!”
They waited. The nearby window rattled faintly under a gust of wind.
“Well, that—” Helen grumbled, but Madeline hissed at her. Helen pursed her lips in annoyance, but stayed quiet, letting the moment stretch on.
Then the circle of blood and ash on the floor started to glow.
“Oh!” Madeline exclaimed.
Helen, however, gasped a laugh, and clutched at Madeline’s hand in excitement.
The creature rose from the center of the circle. Ashen skin stretched taut over strangely-jointed limbs, and the head that bent forward only very loosely resembled the drawing in the tome. The creature breathed, low and raspy, while smoke curled out of its fine nostrils.
“Oh nether demon,” Madeline said. “We summoned you for our—”
“Eternal beauty,” Helen said. “That’s what we want.”
The demon’s three eyes blinked slowly. “Eternal beauty?” Its voice echoed oddly, as though bouncing off more walls than merely the pool house’s.
“Don’t tell us that’s difficult,” Helen said. “People must ask for that all the time.”
The demon hummed. “If you ask us for a token, it is a matter of—”
“Look,” Madeline said, “can we just give you our souls or something? It took us a long time to get a direct line to you.”
The demon didn’t have eyebrows or eyebrow ridges, but it still managed to scowl at them. “A soul would be the usual, yes, but the exchange is less about the soul itself, and more about the value its owner places on the soul. You two… No. Not worth much.”
“What about something other than our souls?” Helen asked.
“Sadly, the only thing of value to you that I would’ve been interested in taking, is exactly what you’re asking to be given.”
Madeline started to curse, but was stopped by Helen’s touch on her arm.
Helen’s eyes were sharp. “The value itself is what’s important. Am I understanding that right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” the demon said.
“The value as placed by the owner,” Helen pressed. “Is that right?”
“Yes, yes,” the demon said impatiently.
“What are you talking about?” Madeline said.
“An idea,” Helen said, her excitement palpable. Madeline would’ve been irritated, except they’d only gotten this far by volleying ideas back and forth between them. If Helen had an inkling, then Madeline was curious to see it play out. “Zafran,” Helen said. “We can call you Zafran, right?”
The demon blinked. “I suppose.”
“Here’s what I’d like to propose,” Helen said.
2011
Yes, they still hadn’t gotten what they wanted, and yes, they had to be patient, and yes, they continued to rely on paint and glue and surgical thread, but the months that followed weren’t the doldrums. The project sallied forth, with the gathering of new supplies and new information and more argument between her and Helen on how to best carry things out.
Madeline had never been this hands-on with a project in her entire life.
But it would be worth it, wouldn’t it? They were so close. Siempre Viva wasn’t the only magic that existed in the world. They’d found one spell out of a dozen that actually worked, and better yet, Zafran could be summoned as many times as they needed. All that was left was a final ingredient.
Helen liked to remind her that she had been patient enough to take seven years of set-up before executing her last revenge on Madeline. They wouldn’t need seven years to get what they needed, surely.
They didn’t.
A few months was how long it took for them to track down that last piece. An offering, which they spent weeks stalking before they took the plunge.
The beautiful young man was just waking up when they dropped him in the summoning circle. Tracking him down had been tough but the kidnapping had been tougher still; even with the tranquilizer, Helen lost an eye and Madeline snapped a shoulder blade while carrying their victim to the car in bringing him back to the mansion.
The painted circle was larger this time, in order to make room for the young man in its center. He cried out, his voice muffled through the gag.
“What was that?” Helen said.
“Probably ‘no’, or ‘you’re insane’, or something.” Madeline finished the circle with the spray can and stood back. “C’mon, let’s get the show on the road.”
They spoke the words.
As smoke curdled the air, the young man spat the gag out of his mouth and snarled, “Do you have any idea who I am? You crazy—what the shit is that!”
Zafran turned surprised golden eyes on the offering in the circle.
“Oh, you did it,” Zafran said.
“What is happening!” the man shrieked.
“This is good enough, right?” Madeline said. “He took the potion of eternal life.”
“What?” On the lapel of the man’s jacket, Lisle’s pin glittered.
“Beauty treasured, in exchange for beauty restored,” Helen said.
“Oh, yes, I accept.” Zafran opened his jaws wide and bent down. The beautiful young man screamed.
Zafran’s demon magic didn’t have the subtlety of Siempre Viva. The summoning circle glowed, and crackling magic leapt from the writing to Madeline and Helen’s bodies, circling them like an ethereal cocoon.
The staples popped out, one by one. Cement crumbled, glue evaporated, and paint fell away in useless flakes of mismatched color. Bones resealed and snapped back into place. Madeline’s neck straightened under the base of her skull, and skin sewed itself taut around over it.
The cocoon faded away, and Madeline blinked in the dim light of the pool house.
Helen laughed.
There were no mirrors in the pool house, but there were windows. At a turn, Madeline saw the evidence with her own eyes.
They’d done it.
They actually, finally done it. Madeline’s hands were shaking as she touched her chest, over the curve of her bosom and followed the fine slant over her ribs down to her stomach. Satisfaction was a sharp balm, but Madeline remembered all too well her complacency the last time she was given this gift, and she looked at Zafran sharply.
“Now,” Madeline said, “based on that one-course meal we just gave you, how long will this last?”
Zafran, who was now alone in its summoning circle, told them a number.
Madeline inhaled sharply. “For heaven’s sake.”
“He is new,” Zafran said. “He took the eternal potion only a year ago. That is the value of his beauty.”
“So you’re saying that we have get you the ones who’ve lived with the potion longer? That we have to—”
“Madeline, it’s fine.” Helen squeezed Madeline’s elbow gently. “It’s fine, we can work with that. Look at us. Look at us.”
Helen touched Madeline’s shoulder, guiding her to look at her reflection again.
It had been long enough that Madeline had almost forgotten what she used to look like. The paintings and photos around the mansion seemed to belong to someone else, except they didn’t – they were her, though the reality of her was better than any painting or photo.
This was Madeline Ashton as she was supposed to be. Statuesque, skin like porcelain and tits like rocks.
Helen, too, was glorious and glowing. Her red tresses were striking, and perfectly balanced against her glowing skin and dark, dangerous eyes.
“You’re a vision,” Madeline said, with honesty that surprised her.
Helen startled a little, but took the praise with a pleased little nod. “And you, restored to the goddess that you are.”
If anyone else said that, it would be merely be truthfulness. But from Helen, it had meaning, and Madeline felt a satisfied smile settle comfortably on her face.
“Yes,” Madeline said. She took a deep breath, and felt that breath actually fill her lungs for the first time in years. “Yes.”
This was temporary, but at least they had a timeline to work with, and a plan that they’d already executed successfully once. Just rinse, repeat, wasn’t it? Madeline had earned this. They’d both earned this, many times over. They had to be careful about going out in public and being seen, but showing off their assets didn’t feel as important as once used to. It was enough that Helen could see her like this.
Madeline met Helen’s gaze, and knew she was thinking the same. Helen held her hand out, and Madeline took it – the motion of their fingers twining together felt as natural as Madeline’s standing in the body that had been denied her for years.
“Let’s enjoy it,” Madeline said. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” Helen said.
2013
Hunting for more offerings would’ve been more difficult, if it weren’t for Lisle.
Lisle’s yearly spring parties meant that all her clients in the area gathered together in one place, and if two enterprising women happened to be nearby to record as many license plates as passed through the gates, they had a list they could work through systematically.
After a while, it even stopped feeling like work at all.
It was just an activity that Madeline and Helen did together – sometimes well, sometimes badly, sometimes a little too late that their bodies fell apart again (temporarily) and their tempers flared when they ran out of time. Each hunt was slightly different, and even the hunts that went badly still tended to be memorable in some way.
And afterward, every time they were successful, they had each other as the audience of that success, and that was all that mattered.
2016
Luncheon under the sun was never so lovely as it was these days, when Madeline didn’t need to worry about sunburn or uneven tan lines. They’d purchased new deck chairs a few months ago and had made full use of them around the new swimming pool, now adjacent to the tennis court that replaced the pool house.
Helen was nearby, wearing a fetching white sundress with red flowers, and looked up from where she was reading the newspaper. “Do you think we’re still undead?”
“Hmm?”
“We were undead,” Helen continued. “When our bodies were physically dead yet still… occupied. But are we still undead now? Because we’re not exactly alive, either.”
Madeline laughed airily. “This is how we know that we have a good thing going. Helen has energy to be philosophical.”
Helen rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t offended. “We breathe again. Our nails and hair grow. We bleed and bruise. But we also heal in ways that normal living people don’t.”
“We don’t age either.”
“Are we vampires? Just without the light allergy?” Helen tapped an immaculate fingernail against the fine alabaster skin of her chin. “Zafran?”
“No, you’re not vampires.” Zafran was sitting at the edge of the swimming pool, around which they’d drawn an extra-large summoning circle so it could dip its feet in the water. “But ‘undead’ is too vague a term. So is ‘living’ and ‘dead’, really.”
“Are we just… flesh balloons that stay inflated as long as we pump magic in?” Helen said. “Is that what we are?”
Madeline peered at Helen over the rims of her sunglasses. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I’m just wondering.”
“Maybe what we need is a change of scenery,” Madeline said. “We just got our new IDs, so how about we take a holiday? Let ourselves be seen a little? I think there’s been enough time.”
“I will take that holiday,” Helen said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop wondering out loud about our situation. Don’t you think it’s fascinating?”
“Maybe it’ll be more fascinating around fritzy drinks and cabana boys.”
Zafran made a gurgling sound that they’d long ago recognized was a laugh.
“Why, do you want to come, too?” Madeline said.
“You want to bring the demon?” Helen asked.
“Why not?” Madeline said. “Bring a few candles, do a summoning circle in Bora Bora. So we’ll have to pay a little extra for clean-up afterward, it’s no big deal.”
Helen hummed, not disagreeing. Their social circle was somewhat limited, not that that was a problem for either of them.
2019
Madeline had expected this part. Helen had expected it rather more, though, which in turn had allowed Madeline to be somewhat complacent about it. That was what made them work – they distributed evenly between them the concern, anger and effort it took to run their lives the way they did.
So while Madeline did figure that Lisle would catch up with them, she was still caught slightly off guard when the day came when Lisle marched right into the mansion with her team of sweaty half-dressed men and cornered her before she could call Helen.
“We know what you’ve been doing,” Lisle said, “and you have to stop.”
“We don’t have to do anything you tell us to,” Madeline said with a sneer. “Look, aren’t we doing you a favor? You have too many clients anyway, your little soirees were bound to get overly crowded sooner or later.”
“Overly…” Lisle’s beautiful eyes bulged. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? You’ve been playing with powers you have no comprehension—”
“I think we know more than you do,” Madeline replied. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about you, you know. This whole persona you’ve taken for yourself – this mysterious, ageless, witchy look – and parking your ass in that scary mansion, ooooh – it’s all a marketing pitch. Designed around that one potion you have, which I bet you didn’t even make yourself.”
Lisle was stunning even when speechlessly angry.
“I was so impressed when you said you were seventy,” Madeline said, “but that’s one generation before me. Did you steal the potion from someone else, Lisle? Did you… kill someone to take it? Did you steal their whole business, too?”
“That’s enough,” Lisle said, her voice echoing loudly in the lobby.
Her men approached threateningly, and Madeline took an uncertain step backward, only for all of the men to be stopped by the crack of gunshots.
Multiple gunshots, each one with true aim as can only be achieved by constant practice.
After all, Helen had been more prepared for this day.
Lisle’s men fell one by one, and then there were just the three of them: Lisle, shocked and appalled; Madeline, now relaxed; and Helen, who was standing at the banister of the upper level, rifle now aimed at Lisle.
“Hi, Lisle,” Helen said. “Long time no see.”
“You cannot do this,” Lisle said, shaken now.
“We just did, so obviously, we can,” Madeline said.
“You’d seen it happen before,” Helen said. “Your clients have died before, and that’s how you knew to warn us, but you didn’t even try to help us. Not once. When you had all the experience.”
“Helen—” Lisle said.
“Make us an offer,” Helen said. “Right now.”
Lisle turned wide eyes from Helen to Madeline and back. She’d previously only seen their failures: their turning to the potion at low points in their lives, scrambling for but ultimately losing Ernest, and then fumbling through the cosmetic fixes of their crumbling bodies. She hadn’t seen them find their way back to each other, and becoming this.
“We can…” Lisle thought frantically. “Perhaps I can give you the details of specific clients I wish… removed…”
“Come on,” Madeline said, “try to offer something we don’t already have.”
“Partners!” Lisle said. “For the cause of Siempre Viva. You can be brought back into the fold and – and perhaps you would like to run the branch here, for the West Coast, permanently? There is still enough of the potion to bring in new clients over the next few decades. It’s enough for all of us!”
“What do you think, Hel?” Madeline said.
“What I think, Mad,” Helen said, “is that Lisle should’ve taken better take care of zat body. Since she’s going to be using it for a very long time.”
“No, wait!” Lisle cried out.
This gunshot seemed louder than the others. Lisle fell in an undignified clatter of limbs that somehow surprised Madeline. For all the she herself had died in a clumsy heap down a staircase, it was still startling for someone like Lisle to get dropped like a sack of potatoes. That they all really were the same at the end.
In the sudden silence, Helen descended the staircase in her usual dramatic fashion, lazy and satisfied.
“What did she think was going to happen by coming here?” Madeline asked. “That her handymen would handle it?”
“Probably,” Helen said. “Or maybe that we’d be scared and lonely, and easy to talk down.”
Madeline nodded. “It worked the first time, didn’t it.”
Lisle’s eye-candy men woke up first, one by one. Each of them reacted in near identical spasms of horror at their newfound bullet-broken bodies. The lucky ones had been shot in the torso, Lisle included, but some had had their skulls splintered, and now sobbed at their ruined beauty.
As for Lisle, there was no sobbing from her. She awoke with an angry gasp, and studied her damaged body with an even angrier scowl.
“You’re one of us now,” Madeline said. “All of you.”
“And now we can really talk,” Helen said.
Lisle’s glare would have intimidated them a few decades ago, but not now. “You have ruined it! Both of you!”
“Is that really the angle you’re going to take?” Madeline said. “Because now you have two options. Either you show us how to fix your problem, proving that you had options this whole time that you never shared with us, or… we bring you in to what we’ve been doing.”
“We don’t actually want to be part of your business, you know,” Helen said. “We’ve been doing fine.”
“I have never known anyone so utterly selfish and destructive.” Lisle flung out a hand, only to realize that her assistants were too busy being horrified by their condition, forcing her to rise to her feet by herself. “And there are two of you! One too many for this world!”
“Oh calm down,” Madeline said. “If you’re not interested, just say so.”
“We do not need you,” Lisle spat. “We will be going.”
They did – Lisle and the whole crew that she’d brought with her – though it was an embarrassing production with limping and sobs the whole way out. Madeline watched them go, and though she would never deny herself of Helen the satisfaction, she did feel a niggle of doubt.
“Do you think we made an unnecessary enemy?” Madeline asked.
“No, I think that was necessary,” Helen replied.
2023
“This is just a setback,” Helen said. “We will find others to hunt, we still have the older lists. Lisle can’t have gotten all of them to hide!”
“She got smart.” Madeline was impressed, despite this being a very real setback. They still had a few weeks left from their last sacrifice, but time was ticking down and Lisle’s local clients had been warned about them. “We’re going to have to stock up on paint. And they changed the catalog again.”
“We are not going back to paint and cement,” Helen said. “For a few days a year when we have to, sure, but I’m not going back that. I’m not!”
“Calm yourself,” Madeline said irritably.
“I am calm!” Helen snapped.
“Look, we do what we’ve always done.” Madeline reached out and took Helen’s hand, squeezing gently. “We explore other options and experiment. Because there will be other options. Nothing lasts forever unless we work for it, right?”
Helen sighed. “Yes, yes, fine.”
2025
The world was too large and too strange for there to only be two non-natural ways to turn back the body clock. Helen was the first between them to find one, while Madeline found the other. There were more out there for certain, but as tended to happen, they’d gotten comfortable with what they’d achieved so far that it was hassle to go back to diving through old books and incantations, a number of which had gathered dust over the recent years.
“Maybe it’s not even magic we need to look for next,” Helen said. “Maybe there’s something else. Technology moves on, right? Maybe the next opportunity’s there.”
“If you find something less idiotic than your robot legs, I’m all for it,” Madeline said. “But there can’t just be one potion, or one spell. It’s ludicrous.”
“We tried so many before we found one that worked.”
“Oh, so you’re giving up already? Do you have something else better to do? Huh?”
“Geez, relax.” Helen rolled her eyes, and then immediately tapped her eyelid to stop it from flaking. “It was nice to be able to relax for those few years, that’s all.”
“I know!” Madeline exclaimed.
“And it’s not so bad this time,” Helen said, as if unperturbed by Madeline’s outburst. When Madeline looked at her in surprise, she added, “Because we know we can do it, it just takes time, and we know how amazing it feels when we do find it.”
Madeline felt her wrathful frustration dissipate. Yes, this is what they did. And they could keep going, because they’d done it already. It was apparently Helen’s turn to be optimistic today, and Madeline appreciated it even as she was annoyed by it. “Yes, it is.”
“It’s not that I mind, exactly,” Zafran said, from where he was waiting in his summoning circle. “But you have to stop calling me if you don’t have anything to offer.”
“I just needed to be clear about all the alternatives,” Madeline said. “What if we give you regular people. Normal people? You like eating normal people, yes?”
Zafran thought about it. “You can get life in return. But not ageless beauty.”
“Then screw it,” Madeline said. “Okay, fine, we dismiss you, go.”
“Let’s take a break,” Helen said. “Break out a few bottles, watch a few old movies, hmm?”
2029
Ernest finally kicked it, and they decided to attend his funeral service. Well, Madeline decided to attend, because she wanted to cheer herself up, while Helen belatedly tagged along, claiming that she had nothing better to do at the moment.
It had been that kind of month. That kind of year, really, of dead end upon dead end, and nailing their joints back together was taking a toll on their usual good cheer. That was why Madeline wanted to go, for surely there would be entertainment to be had from the poor saps that Ernest left behind. They did get that, courtesy of the incredibly saccharine service, but Madeline would be hard-pressed to be admit if it was worth the effort of going out under direct sunlight.
Oh, and then there was the part where their usual argument got them into the usual trouble, and they broke their bodies falling down the stairs outside the church.
This was getting old, but Madeline couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised. This tended to happen when they were both tired and in similarly bad moods, and sometimes it was just easier to take it out on their bodies. They could just glue the bits back together afterward, after all.
“Do you know where you parked the car?” Helen asked.
“That way,” Madeline said. “But I’m not picking myself up first. I am going to lie here while you—someone’s coming!”
“Dammit!”
Madeline fumbled with her hands, but since they were out of her line of sight, she was clumsy and kept grabbing at Helen’s pieces. Perhaps she should just roll all her parts into the bushes simultaneously, and figure it out there.
But then hands – large hands, much larger than her own – took her head and lifted it way, way up, so that she could peer into the face of a man. A familiar-looking man, who had once been handsome but now had acrylic paintwork peeling off his face.
“The mistress wishes to speak to you,” the man said.
“Oh,” Madeline said. “Well, you’d better get—”
Another man came into view, this one carrying a large box into which their various body parts were unceremoniously dumped. Helen screeched and hissed at the mishandling, but Madeline was more curious about where they were being taken, and only squawked when the man accidentally tugged her veil the wrong way, making it poke into her eye briefly.
They were brought into a long, luxurious limousine. It was cool and dark inside, like a mausoleum, and Lisle had the place of honor on the main seat.
Two cushions had been prepared, and Lisle’s assistants placed Madeline and Helen’s heads on each.
“Ladies,” Lisle said.
“Lisle,” Madeline said.
“You timed this, didn’t you,” Helen said.
“It is all about the timing,” Lisle agreed. She looked… not flawless, of course, but much better preserved than Helen and Madeline, with stronger make-up that popped dramatically under her usual dark mood lighting. But this was only because she hadn’t been undead as long as they had, and she had assistants to help her. That said, the illusion was crumbling, and that illusion was critical for Lisle’s way of life.
“It must kill you,” Madeline started, unable to stop herself despite the fact that she was literally a head on a cushion, “that you can’t swan around the way you usually do—”
“I heard that your Dr. Menville had finally succumbed to the final truth of the universe,” Lisle said. “It seemed the right time to… well. Especially since I happened to be in the area. But I shall cut to the chase. Siempre viva is not an infinite resource. You knew that.”
“We did,” Helen agreed.
“What you did not know is that it is extracted from those who… have incubated it within themselves. That is how I make more. I have it removed after the client has lived with it for… a certain number of years. So, there was never any chance of my clients becoming too numerous.”
“You sneaky snake,” Madeline laughed. “Eternal life doesn’t last as long as it used to do, huh? But you made sure that you’d get paid for every new sucker you brought in.”
Lisle inclined her head, accepting the accusation gracefully. Her paint job was excellent, but she was still oozing around the temple. “It is a living,” she said. “In a manner of speaking. But my method has its limits, and so it seems does yours.”
“We don’t need you,” Helen said, which made Madeline wince at the echo; Lisle said the exact same thing, when they killed her.
“No, but it is an opportunity that would benefit us both,” Lisle said. “I have tried my way, and you have tried yours. Shall we work together now?”
Lisle had no intention to be friends with them. But they had no intention to be friends with her, either. All that mattered were the facts of their existence – a shared existence now, which was enhanced by the subtle fear that Madeline recognized in Lisle’s deceptively cool gaze.
In the box of body parts, one of Madeline’s hands found one of Helen’s. They fingers twined together, the sensation familiar even as their fingers flaked and peeled through their lace gloves.
This was how it would be, forever. They’d fall and rise and fall, but they had each other, and they knew how to make it work. Patience and persistence – and the occasional useful alliance – was all it took.
“Let’s talk specifics,” Madeline said.
“And percentage,” Helen said.
Lisle smiled. “Very good.”