Faustus's journal, the xxii. day of May, in the year of our sovereign lady the twenty-seventh.

She knows it not, but she has lived ere now, and shall live again when my bones are dust.

'Twas in William of Malmesbury's Gesta Regium Anglorum that first I read of the gold-haired witch: a type of demoness, as I thought then, or perchance a favoured shape among the infernal regiment, as demonic familiars are wont to take the form of a black cat or a hare. 

Yet the circumstances suggest she is not a recurrent type, but a recurrent person, ever accompanied by demons of a more, shall we say, demonic appearance? Ever endowed with genius mathematical. Ever stumbling blindly, as I have seen her stumble, wailing to know what she is, what she is, till the weapons of the ignorant stop her voice, oft by severing throat from shoulders.

In like case has she ever appeared to us, attended by wonders and cut down by fear.

So many repetitions seem to me as persistent and failed attempts – yet attempts at what? What does she endeavour, without knowing, to achieve, by waking again and again upon this earth?

She has been abed with a fever these two or three weeks, and Martha tends her most faithfully, though she has filled the creature's head with stories – either the lives of the saints or the lives of the fairies, I know not which would be more censured by the Bishop in this age.

Eve's sister returned last evening, so changed as I should scarce have known her, though I am loath to express in what way she is altered. She was ever, in appearance, more youthful than the Eve-creature, yet now the bloom, while still in her cheeks, is... I know not what. Excessive. Like the painted cheeks of players on a stage.

She informed me that she did not present herself to enquire after the Eve-creature's health (I had not supposed that she did), but rather to speak with me, whom she had seemed ever to abhor. With no small curiosity did I receive her. She walked slightly bent, with a hand cradling her side, as she were wounded.

"Give me leave to know," said she, in manner most cordial, "how she appeared."

"Of whom do you speak?" said I, taking pleasure in prevarication.

There was a strange creaking, as of rotten wood, in the lady's throat. It seemed she could not say the word 'Eve'. "You know very well," said she, at length.

"And you know very well my answer. I conjured her, 'tis common knowledge."

"I must know your workings and your incantations."

"Why must you?"

She measured me in silence a moment, her hand curling and uncurling at her side.

"I propose an exchange," said she. "By this time you know, I think, that I have lived many times ere now. I have seen the great library at Alexandria. I have held discourse with the nine worthies, and supped with Cornelius Agrippa. I have questioned Friar Bacon's brazen head, and may summon forth spirits of the air to resolve me of all ambiguities. I have more learning than you could comprehend, and it galled me to attend your lessons, as it would gall you to have the world explained by a burbling infant. Yet have you stumbled upon something not all my time and diligence could unveil, and in its stead, I will give you everything you seek: the secrets of the universe, which are nothing – mere mechanisms whirring and rattling above our heads. But more than this, I will give you the secrets of magic."

It is fruitless to record what I felt on hearing this offer. Mayhap it is e'en fruitless to record how I acted, for anyone who has read my account (or even heard my name) thus far may guess at how I acted. For the knowledge of the ancients I would sell my soul; 'twas a small matter to sell my journal. Nay, there was no sacrifice entailed, for I had made copies of my journal, and was ashamed of nothing I had set down therein.

I thought nothing of strengthening my enemy – how should I, for she had vowed to strengthen me in turn? We should be equals. And in an equal contest 'twixt man and woman, the man must triumph for a certainty.

Such I believed in my vanity and folly. Yet strange to say, it was her knowledge – her female, demonic knowledge – that has humbled me, that has opened my eyes to mine own folly.

I sold my soul indeed. But more than this, I have sold Martha and the Eve-creature, both whom had not been mine to sell. I write this in the full knowledge that she will read it, and smile her unconscionable, damned smile. Let her smile it. 

Let her read, too, how her knowledge did enter at mine eyes – memories as obscene as they were enlightening – till I was obliged to hold my skull together with my hands lest it should burst asunder.

I saw the Colossus of Rhodes, the Great Lighthouse of Alexandria. I heard the voices of Hypatia, Euripides, dead tongues in my ear that became intelligible through no effort of my will. I saw ancient scripts scrawl themselves across my sight.

I felt the frustration of her years of dormancy, in which I verily believe she was not asleep, but rather chafing against her closed eyelids, straining to come alive again, desperate to emit so much as a sigh.

Finally, I saw the rage of her ambition. I saw a valley of fire down which she walked, environed on all sides by creatures kneeling in the most abject obeisance. There was no end to the valley, nor no end to the creatures who lined it to do her homage. I saw bowed, horned heads paling into the distance, blurred into obscurity by the smoky miles.

Her knowledge laid me low for above an hour. I did not see her leave. My perspective glass was gone when I awoke, yet this was the least of the things I mourned for.

Methinks I now see what it was she hoped to learn by resorting to my journals. She sought to understand the manner of Eve's awakening, that she might learn the way to dispatch her with a finality she has ne'er known yet. For she means to take her sister's sovereignty. She means the man whom she must love to rule by her side – yet as consort, not as king. Faith, she means to consort with him in but one manner only. She'll have none of his advice. Almost am I afeared for him. Yet more so for myself, for I now understand that my journal shall reveal unto her what she sought.

With Myrrha's knowledge of magic and its workings, I understand that my incantations, with which I vainly believed to have summoned Eve, were but garbled words, my wax seals mere trinkets, the only magic on that occasion having occurred below-stairs, in the tears and patience of a most cruelly used housemaid. 

'Twas Martha who resurrected her, by mending of my icon from Byzantium. Moreover, 'twas Martha's tears – occasioned by mine own unkindness – that served as incense to the ritual, that seasoned the air so sweet that the Eve-creature brought forth a tongue to taste. 'Twas Martha's frivolous cares that embedded compassion in her heart.

With Myrrha's knowledge, I see what she intends. She will make a trial of the matter, as she did with those unfortunate lovers who came under her eye. Knowing Martha's importance to the Eve-creature's life, she will make trial of Martha's importance to the Eve-creature's death – not death as she hath known it yet, nor as, God willing, any of the faithful shall know in his mercy. Yet death as an ending that no new chapter follows.

She'll not be hasty. To kill Martha might kill Eve in the manner by which she has ever died – after which she might perforce wait many hundreds of years for the chance to end her life again.

She must gain possession of the icon, and of Martha, both which I have, for the present – yet can I scarce lock doors against her. Too well do I know the tricks of which she is capable. Worse yet, my journal records every vault or place of shelter to which we might retreat. In surrendering my words, I have given her the city in effect.

Nay, not the city. The city answers to me yet. Herein I may discern some hope.

Myrrha's knowledge shows me what perhaps she herself ne'er knew. Eve wakes again and again upon the earth that she may know what she is.

That I did not see this ere now can I scarce believe. The question is repeated, and repeatedly set down, at each of her incarnations – the same that she hath battered my ears withal since first she came to my city. What am I? What am I?

I know not what will ensue if she be answered. Perhaps the demon world shall ope its gates, a great multitude spill forth, and o'ershadow the face of the earth. Yet I do not fear this as I fear Myrrha's ambitions. 

***

Faustus's journal, the twenty fourth day of May, in the year abovesaid.

We are undone. Myrrha moves with the speed of Atalanta, and no golden apples – nought but her sister's head – may divert her from her course.

She has shown my journal to the Bishop. I know not how she gained admittance, what pretence of piety she made unto him. Hopes he to convert her? Does he deem her the lesser of two evils? More fool he, if so. 

Yet, whatsoever hath passed between them, I have received a summons to the Bishop's Palace, and Convocation has been ordered to denounce me.

That the Eve-creature were a demon, he ever knew. That I had conjured her, he must perforce have suspected, yet had he hitherto no proof which he might present to Her Majesty. Now he lacks nought but my person.

There is time yet. Convocation are not unanimous. Permissions must be obtained from the Queen – though, faced with written evidence of conjurations, she can scarce refuse to try me.

Yet Martha and Eve will not flee the city. Eve will not remove herself till she has ensured her demons be safe, and Martha will not stir a foot without Eve.

I may not flee without them. Charges – responsibility – such words cannot encompass what they have become to me. I love them not, yet almost I may describe them as dear, sweet shackles about my feet. I will defy the world with them. I have no choice.

The icon, at least, have I removed. One of my students takes it with him to Ghent, where it will reside with a Bookseller of his acquaintance there. Neither student nor bookseller being named in my journal, I may hope to keep its whereabouts obscure, yet of their faithfulness I cannot vouch, for they are all but strangers to me.

***

This day, the xxv. of May, Eve has persuaded me we must defer salvation. 

She led me to the spire of the University Church – not without difficulty, for she is weak yet from the fever. But her temper is ever of a strange, numerical coolness, as betrayal were a calculation, a matter but of odds. 

She showed no surprise as I related my bargain with her sister, her sister's plots against her, the peril she now stands under. At length, as I represented to her the urgent necessity of fleeing, she shook her head.

"My people are scattered throughout the country. They will face persecution and death if I am denounced and cannot be found. But if there is a trial, and due process of law be observed-"

"I cannot promise that," said I.

"Yet will it buy us time," she insisted. "You may lead the demon-folk underground while others are busy in my overthrow. Upon the shamelessness of a woman your clergy has ever loved to dwell. If, as you say, I have lived many times ere now, I may hope to live again. 'Tis fitting none should die but me. I can place Martha and yourself upon a level of hell that will prolong your lives till I return. Then may we search for answers at our leisure. Then may we discover what I am, and what results from my attaining such knowledge."

"Martha will not flee without you," said I. I was ashamed to own this was my sole objection.

She considered the city beneath us for a moment. "You have said there is ever one like Martha, if it be not Martha indeed, who resurrects me. I believe Martha may die with me and yet live, though we may not know her, nor she us. Do you understand?"

I did not. But once more, shame kept my tongue in fetters. I only said, "Should you die, your people will die with you."

"Nay, when I die, they do but sleep. If violence end them, they die indeed, and shall not return again."

"Is this true also of Myrrha?" said I. "May violence end her?"

"I know not. Why should it matter?"

A breath of exasperation rushed between my teeth. "Know you not she means you harm? She will endure in your absence. She may e'en seek to prevent your resurrection."

"She'll not do that," said the Eve-creature. "How can she hope to kill me if I come not back?"

"And what is our defence," said I, "when you return, and she endeavours to kill you once more?"

"It is no matter," said she, with a quietude most maddening. "I may not be killed for aye."

"She is ingenious," said I. "You know not..."

Yet could I not finish, without admitting all I had seen of her mind. I feared she would recoil from me, as I would I might recoil from myself.

"If you please," said I, in a softer tone than any I had used thus far. "I must know how to stop her. For Martha's sake."

She looked at me then. Martha's name has a power over her yet. Most reluctantly, she answered. "Myrrha is not like the others, I know not how. She is not quite myself, but rather... a reflection of myself. If you call me the Goddess of the demons, she must be a shadow of divinity, now cut off from that which casts it. I fear violence cannot end her."

"Then what may?"

"I know not. My mind is dark on many points, and in many places. I speak oft without knowing what I mean."

My shoulders slumped. "So too do many men. That's no witchcraft."

I turned to the city laid out, like one of Mercator's great charts, before me. Standing above my Oxford, whose spires and colleges are more intelligible to me than my mother tongue – standing thus did I formulate our last hope. The city answers to me yet. 

"Mayhap the city shall keep us." Yet from this brief comfort my spirits sank once more. "If it be still standing, for it may be many hundreds of years ere you return. The mind of man was ne'er intended to withstand centuries, save in the bliss of heaven, where time is nought. I know not how I shall endure. I know not if I may preserve my reason-"

"Yet are you not a man only. Myrrha's mind has closed with yours. You have partaken of her endurance – perhaps of much else," said she, in a voice almost of suspicion. I let it lie. Had she not reason to suspect me?

"We can ensure the city remains at least," said I. "We may each of us appoint a guardian to safeguard its interests in our absence. You must leave a demon, yet not one which exists in outward show. I will leave my posterity."

Upon this point, I did not enlarge. Faith, there were women enough in this city who had borne my issue, but I willed not the Eve-creature should know it.

"A simple charm will tie my descendants to these stones," I continued. "While my line endure, each son or daughter of my house shall make their way here, shall find their fates bound to that of Oxford. Know you how you may leave a demon here in human guise?"

"Yea," said she. "There is a type of demon may pass like a contagion from one human body to the next."

"It will endure many hundreds of years?"

"Many thousand, if it need."

I nodded my head. "Then our guardians may preserve the city that it may preserve us. Such magic am I master of, and no more. For your sister's end, we can but hope."

She smiled then, as one who envied me. "You shall have many years in which to plan her demise."

"So shall she to plan ours."

"She is but one. We are three."

"Nay, lady," said I. "She is two. The man to whom you have bound her shall be our enemy. She will have time, from his first infancy, to pour her poison in his ears."

"One so handsome could not be so ill," said she.

I laughed most heartily. "Could he not? Does beauty sink through the skin and alter the soul?"

She lifted her shoulders, as one who could scarce spare the strength to shrug. Only then did it enter my mind that she was fatigued – that perhaps her coolness was in place to keep her standing, as our guardians, the city.

Methought Martha would venture a tender hand upon the creature's shoulder. Yet am I not Martha, and it hath ne'er tormented me more.

"Let us in," said I, as gently as I might. "You must gather your strength if you are to play the whore of Babylon before the outraged gaze of the world. Methinks a red dress, a little powder on your cheeks, and you shall be her very incarnation."

***

I have but one matter to add, post scriptum, ere I commence my long exile. Time, I had reckoned on, but not solitude. Yet the demons who accompanied me under the earth are now but sleeping statues, as King Arthur's Knights on Cadbury Hill, awaiting the hour of England's greatest need.

The greater part of my demonic hosts are on deeper levels, caverns which lie sealed 'gainst man's intrusion. Yet for a league about my chamber I may wander as I list, and watch the dust gather on the sleeping creatures' brows. Not a breath stirs them, yet am I assured they are alive. Their bodies degrade not as the days pass – or as I estimate they pass, for all is night about me. 

I should have concluded the Eve-creature were dead had there been none to advise me, yet I was told. Intelligence reaches me here via a well high above my chamber, wherein my students drop missives and epistles, at great risk to their safety, for I am hunted still. 

The Eve-creature's trial, they say, was well-attended; her execution more so. Yet was the pyre cheated of its fuel, for she was discovered dead in her cell upon the very morning of her execution. And the wonder is, her cell-walls were charred and blackened, her bedding and her apparel burnt to ash, yet was there not a mark upon her body – nor a scorching nor a scar. How the fire came about, none can say, for she was not permitted candles to light her.

Yet I see the cause. Would I did not. My students tell me that Martha was taken ere the Bishop and his Inquisitors could apprehend her. That she would not leave the Eve-creature's side of her will, I need not say. I must conclude therefore that Myrrha took her, that she 'scaped the Inquisitors only to fall foul of the devil herself, and perchance endured worse torments than any of the Bishop's devising. 

At the last, I believe, Myrrha must have burnt her, reasoning that 'twould burn Eve likewise. Perhaps she hoped if Eve's body were nought but ash, she could ne'er return to it, and in consequence she might not reawaken.

'Twas an act born of desperation, I doubt not. She hath now lost both her subjects for experimentation. Martha is no more, and Eve may sleep long centuries ere her sister can practise evil on her again.

And I have lost my dear fetters, yet can neither mourn nor walk free. My sense of their sanctity – yea, Martha's too – forestalls my tears. They are now unbound, while the very earth clips me. They are outside of time, while I shall have long ages in which to lack them. I see them draped in clouds, or dancing with the fitful energy of fire. Yet my shoulders are so heaped with sin and sorrow that many angels might not lift me.

The awe they did awake in me prevents my weeping. I will call it awe, yet I fear me there is envy too. If I shall weep – for I have much time, and in such a case I dare not say what I will and will not do – if I shall weep, it will be no humble gesture. I am a bitter and resentful creature. So I must be, indeed, for such is Myrrha, and she and I are one.