Page 51 of Her Creation

His eyes moved around the laboratory, leaping from one space to another as his body continued to jerk and tighten. He was terrifying. Ridges of muscle moved and shook until the tension in his body released all at once, and suddenly his eyes went empty before they closed and his body fell limp.

“What? No,” she said, fear pressing into her chest. “No!” she cried out. She held her hand over her father’s heart in the man’s chest and, for the second time that night, felt nothing from it. He was dead. “No,” she whispered, continuing to shake her head as she backed into her father’s desk. Glass shattered on the floor behind her, his bottle of laudanum having knocked over. She stared at it for a moment before the scent of cloves and cinnamon wafted up, cloying and nauseating.

Before she realized it, she was halfway up the stairs backward with the gritty, textured stone tearing at her bare back, sliding up the wall, keeping her eyes on the dark shape at the bottom of the stairs, still wet from her attempted cleanup.

Reluctantly, she turned at the top of the stairs and looked down into the darkness. A flash of lightning pressed under the crack of the door as she peered down with horror. The stairs were still slick from the rain that had dripped from her dress. The dark spots grew darker and darker, spreading into puddles before her eyes. This was the last thing her father had seen. No, she reminded herself, with a thought that felt like a white-hot lance piercing the back of her skull. She was the last thing he had seen before plummeting. Her failure to save him.

The fall flashed across her mind, and she convulsed. Perhaps she should let go, lose her grip on the railing and leave this world once and for all. What would it matter? The only ones to care about her were already gone. She’d killed them.

When only the rumble of thunder sounded, she opened the door and stepped into the sitting room on the other side.

Everything was still and dark in the castle. Only the occasional rumble of thunder broke the deafening silence. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark interior with flashes of yellow before going dark again. The usually glowing candles and lamps had not been lit. The staff had all been told not to return until Monday morning. Stiffly, she walked from the sitting room into the dining room. The leather chair sat worn and dented in the exact proportions of her father from when he’d last sat there. She glanced at the empty seat at the table. Her eyes prickled and burned as tears slowly leaked over the rims and down the sides of her face. Everything felt wrong. She moved to the front door with slow, intentional strides, every step realizing this was her life now, completely alone and in more pain than she thought she could feel without dying. She opened the door in time for a great flash of lightning to fill the entire sky above her, illuminating her face. The door was left open as she stepped out, needing to feel the vast, open air on her skin. Her tears continued to fall as she stepped down the steps. Rain splattered against her face, mingling with her tears. She fell to her knees, relishing the pain from the stone digging into her skin.

Victoria stayed like this for a long while. Despite the rain, at least fifteen large, black crows swarmed around her, cawing softly in the air above her. Tears and rain eventually coated her naked body as she remained crumpled on the ground in front of the imposing black castle.

She needed to be thinking of an escape, of some way to leave before they discovered the experiments and she was pushed out and shunned. From this moment on, she was alone and destitute. She possessed no skill that would earn a wage and no appeal for a husband. Wilhelm had been the only one interested in her, and he was married.

She would starve to death, alone.

Perhaps that wasn’t so far off for her, given her current state. Maybe that was for the best, since she had no means of feeding herself. She could try to find midwives in a town nearby and beg for a job but doubted she would make enough to feed herself if they even took her work as qualification, let alone find housing. The church. She still needed to talk to the church. Find out if they would bury her father at the old church cemetery next to her mother. If they refused, she would dig the hole herself.

A numb ache pressed under her ribs, and when she knew she could cry no more, she returned to the front door, ignoring the crows’ calls growing louder the closer she got to the castle. Several large packages wrapped in parchment with purple ribbons were tucked in the corner that she must’ve walked past.

Her dresses.

Numbly, she picked up the smallest package on top and inspected it. They must have left it by the door when the servants hadn’t answered.

The ribbon slid off, and she peeled the paper open as the purple string fluttered to the floor under the cover of the castle’s overhang. Renewed with more tears, her eyes welled up again. She had been so excited to show her father the new color she had chosen. It had marked a new period in her life, a new her.

Her hands dropped to her side, and the box spilled down as she steeled her face and stepped inside the entrance door. Oxblood-red gloves, the exact color of Innominatus’s blood that had stained the fabric of her dress, fell from the paper and lay atop the discarded purple ribbon on the floor.

The enormous castle door closed with a bang that rattled the walls. Passing by the entrance to the sitting room, she noticed the door to the laboratory open and came to a halt. Her body froze as it took in the odd, unfamiliar sight. Her father never left the laboratory door cracked; it always remained closed and locked. Always.

She took a few timid steps forward toward the door. For a moment Victoria simply stood in the uncomfortable silence of the house, then she touched the cold iron of the laboratory door and propelled it forward, breath catching in her lungs.

The sound of iron chains slowly drifted up the stairwell.

She gripped the railing tightly and moved down. The sound was faint, but it was distinctly an iron chain.

Her feet hit the bottom of the stairs. Victoria turned quickly to see why the chain was still catching the lever, eager to leave the basement and not return. But when she looked at the cadaver, her steps faltered, and her blood ran cold.

The heavy iron chains from Innominatus’s wrist manacle hung from the wall, slowly swaying.

The table was completely empty. Her creation was gone.

Chapter 15

March, 1803 Log entry

Recounting events 1773–1795 Location: Unknown

Unease fluttered over Victoria’s skin as she took in the vacant table. Terror flooded her body. The experiment worked…but he had broken free from his chains.

She appraised the iron bracelets as fear knotted and tangled inside her. They had not been removed with force but with skill. Victoria tried to listen for movement, but panic surged inside her with such force she could hardly take a full breath.

He could be anywhere right now. He could have left the castle or be watching her movements this very moment.

Something moved to her right; Victoria spun, gasping for air. If he was still in the laboratory, she could lock him inside it. God only knew what coursed through the former killer’s mind right now. For all she knew, he woke in pain and believed that she had been the one who had killed him. They had locked eyes; he had seen her face.