Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has posted a lovely review! They are great to read and are helpful in planning how I'm going to continue writing. Well done to therealmisshappy, who spotted the Eddi/Luc reference in the last chapter! Please R&R this one! xxx


Chapter 4 – The Deal With the Devil

I heard him speak the words – "Because it's yours" – and I let out a surprised sigh. Michael done all this for me, I mean, the clothes and makeup I was wearing, plus the champagne and the personal shopper, must have cost him an absolute fortune! I just couldn't believe it as I stared unmoving at his face, which was now breaking into a satisfied grin.

He said cheerfully, "Well, Frieda, I think you've just helped me with my medical thesis which this experiment was testing, so it's only right that I should pay you for your work." I was still incredulous at the expense and enormity of the gift he had given me and unable to say anything that would have been anywhere near coherent.

"Besides," he said, looking me up and down, "You look…fantastic! I can't wait to see your mother's face!" Michael took the shopping bags, with Gucci emblazoned across them, from me and took my now free hand in his, tucking it in the crook of his elbow, gently pulled me away from the store homewards.

We had a quiet, but strangely not awkward, stroll home. All the way, only two thoughts were occupying my mind: one – how I was managing to negotiate the uneven cobbles of the streets in the stiletto court shoes I was wearing and two – what my mama was going to say when she saw me. I mean, I hadn't looked like this since I was a little girl, before my father got sick…

When we reached mama's house, Michael pushed open the door, which was always left open, as my mama thought there was nothing in the small house worth stealing, so why make people think that there was by always locking the door, as if you were guarding a treasure trove. I loved my mama and her strange, yet logical, way of thinking, but I was genuinely excited to hear what she thought of my new look, which I actually loved and would have liked to keep for special occasions, whilst still being the normal goth Frieda during the day…

We walked down the hallway, looking for mama and found her in the living room sitting alone, reading a Ukrainian recipe book and making notes on an old, now yellow notepad. Michael decided to walk in ahead of me, partly screening me from her, so the surprise could be more dramatic, and he greeted my mother, "Good day, Mrs Petrenko."

My mama looked up from her work and smiled with the gaps between her teeth showing, "Mr. Spence, good to see you, good to see you," her heavy Ukrainian accent saturating her words and turning them into music. She noticed a flurry of light, pastel clothes behind him and gestured to me and asked Michael, "Who is that behind you, Mr. Spence? Did you bring a guest for supper?"

Michael chortled at her ignorance, "No, Mrs Petrenko," and he stepped out of her line of sight to me, exposing my whole body.

I smiled timidly, awaiting mama's exclamation of surprise, but I did not expect what happened next. She looked at me once with a smile, but otherwise blank expression then returned her attention to Michael and taking in the bags, she said, "Ah! A surprise visit from your ex-wife, how lovely and romantic! Pleased to meet you, Mrs Spence," she got up and began to approach me.

Michael's face grew ashen as he turned to face me, the recollection of Annaliese saddening him, but the worry of my own reaction to my mother's misunderstanding was the cause of his worried expression. My reaction was a whirlwind of fast emotions that each had a millisecond to show itself on my face. I was initially taken aback, but then I was shocked that she hadn't recognized her own daughter even though I looked different, then anger washed over me and but my feelings were finally settled on absolute devastation…Tears began to shine in my eyes, soon making sad rivers, black with the traces of mascara and eyeliner, down my recently altered healthy, rosy cheeks and dripped softly onto the floor.

I slowly raised my hands to brush away the tears with newly acquired poise, when my mama spoke again in a more unnerved tone, "Why, my dear, why are you crying?" She looked at Michael for answers, but his attention had stayed on me.

He dropped the bags, didn't answer my mother's question, but walked back to me and engulfed me in his arms, giving me a warm, comforting hug as he saw the need. My mother watched the moment still unaware of what her words had done and meant, so she waited for Michael to tell me to go upstairs and change back into my everyday clothes before coming back down. I did do what Michael said, which I seemed to be doing a lot recently when I never used to, but I looked at her with hurt eyes as I left the room to go upstairs.

She looked confused at Michael, "What happened? Did I say something to upset her?"

Michael returned to face her and said in hushed tones, "Mrs Petrenko…that was Frieda." He looked into her eyes to see the disorder, surprise and understanding that dawned on her why I had fled the room. He felt sorry that he'd caused friction between mother and daughter, for it had not been his intent at all. There was clearly something there that had made my not new, but reattempted, look hit a nerve. For, just as my face had shown injury and horror at not being recognized by my own mother, so had hers displayed the ultimate shock at seeing me look as innocent and naïve as I had once looked as a girl.

My mother did not leave to try and come and comfort me. She knew I did not like it and that I preferred to deal with the problems that faced me alone, since I had been like that since my father became sick. She went over to the worn mantelpiece crowded with old and new photographs of family and friends, some dead, some alive, picked up a beautifully framed picture of a schoolgirl around the age of fourteen and silently gave it to Michael.

Michael examined it and was astonished at whose likeness it was – mine. It was the last picture that was taken of me before I had transformed, almost overnight, into a daylight vampire. I had sleek black hair that had no bright green or magenta stripes coursing through it, my olive green eyes bright and clear without the ever present sarcasm that flooded them now, my lips pink with a small smile turning them up at the corners, full of girlish charm, whereas now, my lips were seldom smiling and never girlish!

Michael was astounded by the differences between the girl in the photo and the woman I was now. He could not believe such a change could occur and not simply be a phase, when I had been so full of light as a child. In his mind, Dorian Gray references were attaching themselves to me. My portrait was who I really was, but for a reason as yet unknown to him, I had done a deal with the Devil and let myself become a creature of darkness and gloom and the face I wore now was not the real Frieda Petrenko, but a façade…

His head suddenly shot up, "What happened to her?"

My mother turned back to him and said her voice full of sadness, "Her father." She was prepared to leave it at that, as my father's sickness and death was painful for her to talk about, but Michael pressed her, more interested by my story, "What about her father?"

She unwillingly went on, "Frieda's father, Stanislav, had leukemia and struggled with it for many years, until he died a few years ago." She sighed, "He fought it bravely, Mr. Spence, this whole family fought it bravely and none more so than Frieda who was fourteen when he was diagnosed. As you see," she gestured at the photo, "she used to be bright and wore summer dresses and she had innocence. She was an ingénue…Sonaya was older and was a broody, serious child growing up anyway, so she dealt better, but Frieda, still so young and ignorant of the ways of the world, never accepted the trials and sorrows that her dear father had to endure, so she suffered them along with him."

This being a long and arduous tale, my mother returned to her seat, "The change in her happened so suddenly, we did think it would be a phase and the impulse would go, but it never did and she's been the way she is now for many, many years, Mr. Spence." She invited Michael to sit and listen to her story comfortably. "I think she believes that if she is dressed in black, almost mourning clothes and clothes of sorrow and hurt, then no one will ever know when she truly hurts inside, because her clothes are always dreary and dark. In truth, she is a darling and sweet child, but her childhood was stolen from her unfairly, so she hides her true self beneath the blackness so that nobody can find it and take what little remains of it from her."

Michael heard the regret in my mama's voice, but was powerless to do anything to console her, except taking her bony, overworked hands in his. "Today, Frieda took me to the Goth shop but it was so awful that we left and then I took her to Gucci and she was unwilling at first, but she saw herself and suddenly, it was as if she became happier and much sweeter and obliging, whereas normally she's a right pain in the ass!" Michael shocked that he'd just said that to my mama, quickly apologized.

My mama nearly wet herself laughing, but she shook her head, "No, Mr. Spence, no apologies necessary – she is!" My mama interrupted herself with her uncontained laughter, but she soon gained control of herself and solemnly looked into Michael's eyes and said, "Mr. Spence, I have watched you and my daughter, and I can see the strong friendship between you and how much that friendship matters to both of you, and especially how she trusts you. I will tell you this – she would not have allowed anyone else to return her to how she used to look – that tells you that she let her guard down with you and trusted you enough to do it. She never trusted me or any of her other family or friends enough to unveil herself to since her father got ill, she trusted you." Michael took in her words, now fully aware of what he had done when he had tried out his experiment earlier.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have unwittingly opened Pandora's Box," he said, pushing the photograph back into my mother's hands.

She resisted, "Mr. Spence, you keep that…" She glimpsed at it one last time before concealing it beneath Michael's hands. "To remind you of what once was, and what nearly could have been again today."

"It's not too late…she changed today, taking off her Gothic clothes for nicer ones – she'll do it again." He said hopefully.

My mother smiled knowingly at his misdirected optimism, but shook her head, "No, now that I've ruined it and taken the joy out of feeling again how she used to, it'll be years – if ever – until she feels able to be open again." She sighed regretfully, "I can't believe I was so foolish not to recognize my own daughter. I wager you think me thoughtless to have done such a thing, but I haven't seen her dressed like that for over ten years…"

"No, I don't think that at all." Michael reassured. He was amazed that a mother had not seen that it was her own child standing before her, as he was certain he'd never not know one of his own four children were they before him in whatever disguise, but he could understand the grief and hardship Derzhka Petrenko had borne in her life, so forgave any repressed, unhappy memories she might have.

She looked upstairs, thinking about me in my room alone, consoling myself and then looked at Michael and suggested, "Mr. Spence, normally Frieda does not appreciate people going into her room and nor does she enjoy comfort or pity, but seeing as today the word normal has ceased to mean anything in this house," she smiled pleasantly, "why don't you go up and see her? I'm sure you would be welcome. And please, I would ask a favour of you? Please do not tell Niklaus or Sonaya about what I have done today and please try and help Frieda, for I've hurt her in such a bad way that you might be the only one who can help her."