Page 21 of Her Creation

Helena flashed a friendly smile. “I have already thrown myself completely into the second book, but if you care to try the third, then I will bring it with me on Friday.” She moved her elbow to tap Victoria’s arm in a comfortable gesture.

Utterly surprised, though not entirely ungrateful for the distraction, Victoria pulled her attention back to Wilhelm’s figure looming closer. He was going to approach her. She would have to explain how they knew each other. “Friday?” she asked Helena.

“A group of us are gathering for a bit of Tarock at Rosemary’s. I insist on your joining us so that I can finally have someone to speak about my reading to. Oh, look, here comes Wilhelm! He will be at our gathering as well,” Helena muttered.

“I’m afraid I can’t Friday—”

“You don’t know me very well yet, but I should warn you: I’m quite stubborn occasionally, and I am choosing to encourage that on this occasion. Oh, please come. I will not take no for an answer. The others get on so frequently about such boring topics. I can’t blame them, as they are so much younger than I am. You will keep me company, and we can catch up on what you thought of the books.”

“All right.” Victoria found herself unable to turn the woman down.

“How do you know Wilhelm?” Helena asked as she glanced between Victoria and the man waltzing toward her with such fervor.

“Well,” Victoria swallowed. “Apparently, we are to be mar—”

The crowd clapping cut off Victoria, and the baron’s heir sent a cocky wink to her, veering slightly at the last second and bumping into the pianist.

Victoria’s mouth fell open as he kissed the woman on the cheek and smiled, squeezing her shoulders as he sat down on the glossy black piano bench, nearly on top of the beautiful woman.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Helena dipped to Victoria’s ear so Victoria could hear her over the cheers and aws from the crowd, bobbing her feather.

The wrinkles on Victoria’s forehead creased in tandem as her stomach knotted again tightly. She pushed the syllables from her throat to ask her new friend what she meant, but the sound of her voice was buried under the cheering of the crowd as the baron appeared and silenced the room’s excited chatter.

“Incredible! Incredible! I hope you shall teach my grandchildren to play as beautifully.” The baron directed his words to the smiling pair before he turned to face the crowd. “Of course, tonight, we must give our deepest thanks to Dr. Frankenstein, the owner of the skillful hands that saved my Wilhelm’s precious life.”

The crowd turned their heads with polite, smiling faces and raised their glasses toward the door, where Alphonse stood among the more academic men in attendance. His eyes went directly to Victoria’s as he lifted his glittering glass toward her with a soft nod, the rosy apples of his cheeks lifted in a proud smile.

“But we must also give our thanks to God and the boar for bringing my son to his senses and finally encouraging him to settle down and marry. Cheers to Wilhelm and Sophia! You, of course, are all invited to the wedding.”

“Are you all right, dear?” Helena asked as Victoria moved past her, rushing toward the open doors of the ballroom. “I’ll send a carriage for you Friday at noon!” she called after her.

Victoria’s fingers tightened around the black fabric of her skirts, lifting them enough that they didn’t catch her feet as she ran from the room, unable to make eye contact with her father when she passed his group and spilled into the empty hallway on unsteady feet.

“Victoria! What is wrong?” Alphonse shouted, appearing behind her in the empty hallway.

Victoria retched as she crumpled onto the polished marble in a heap of black silk. Murky, plum-colored liquid dripped from her lips in stringy droplets as she bowed her head, the burn of cinnamon hot in her throat. Spiced wine pooled from the front of her gown onto the marble.

“Oh, heavens,” Alphonse breathed. His face turned serious before he grabbed a passing servant without hesitation. “Be quick. Bring our carriage around. Tell the baron that I had a joyous time, but I indulged in too much spiced wine, and my Victoria had to take me home. Now. Quickly.” He pulled a folded napkin from the servant’s arm and quickly wiped away any traces of plum-colored liquid from the glistening marble floor.

Victoria’s eyes opened to the comforting scent of ether and spirits as the weight of her father’s tailcoat wrapped around her shoulders and his trembling grip guiding her out the door to wait for their carriage.

Hours after they had returned home, long after her father had gone to bed and the castle was quiet with sleep, Victoria found herself in the laboratory. She cried to the only person she could share her secret with. The only one who couldn’t judge, shame, or hurt her. She didn’t remember moving into the cold, chemical-smelling space from her bedroom. She didn’t remember lighting the lamps or pulling the cadaver from the cold chamber. It wasn’t until the tears slid down her face and onto the dead man that she realized she was confiding the night’s earlier events as if he were her closest friend, and in that moment, he was.

The tears dripped from her face and tapped onto his arm as she sat on the small space of table with the small of her back pressed against his ribs, giving her the desperate crumbs of comfort she needed. She had placed his enormous, wounded arm across the tops of her thighs as she held on to him, pretending his silence was not because of death, but of patience.

“Then I slid my dress down and left the room,” she gasped as she wiped her sleeve over the many, many tears that pooled on his arm.

The neural apparatus’s flame contained in a glass continued its low flicker, casting soft, comforting flashes of warm firelight across Victoria and the cadaver in the dark basement. A pulse of awareness from the man’s brain spiked, and despite it being only a scientific reaction stating that his brain was still viable, Victoria paused her story to squeeze his arm. The flame brightened behind Victoria’s back, but as soon as she twisted to look at it, it had returned to the steady, low flicker of flame. Hours later, after her tears had dried and she felt equal parts foolish and grateful, Victoria returned the body to the cold chamber and left, promising herself she wouldn’t overstep that boundary with the cadaver again.

Chapter 8

Log entry

March 1803

Recounting events 1773–1795 Location: Unknown

So why, then, would the heart not be replaceable?” Victoria questioned.