Page 64 of Her Creation

“Miss Frankenstein,” the baron said, stepping forward, his voice dropping into something dark and dangerous, “you do understand that an unlicensed woman practicing medicine violates ecclesiastical law.” He advanced into her space, forcing her backward. “Such a crime carries severe consequences. Permanent imprisonment. Possibly death.”

Victoria retreated another step, her knees trembling.

“After a public trial,” he continued, relentless, “you would be erased from record entirely. Denied consecrated burial. A woman meddling in such matters—especially one without noble blood—would be subject to public hanging.”

Her bones vibrated inside her skin, as though her body itself were preparing to collapse.

“I only hope,” Wilhelm added lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “that you haven’t been assisting your…eccentric father with his peculiar experiments. It’s one thing for a man to push boundaries in science. Another entirely for a young woman to indulge in such dangerous curiosities.”

“No,” Victoria said desperately. “Nothing like that.” She backed away again as both men pressed forward.

“If your father is confined to his bed,” the baron snarled, “then who, exactly, do you claim worked on my son if it were not you?”

“I did.”

The voice came from behind them. Low and even, threaded with something unmistakably threatening.

All three turned at once.

For a breathless moment, Victoria could not tell whether her heart had stopped altogether or begun to race uncontrollably.

Innominatus stood in the entrance to the foyer, fully dressed though unmistakably disheveled: shirt, trousers, waistcoat—her father’s clothing, she realized dimly. Wrinkled. Ill-fitting. Yet he wore them with an effortless authority that made the fabric seem intentional, even regal. A wide strip of linen trailed from his hands, pooling at his bare feet, its upper length wrapped and tucked around his throat.

He stood only a few paces from the baron.

Cold washed over Victoria as the blood drained from her face.

“I removed the candy from the child’s throat,” Innominatus continued calmly. “Was there an issue with my work?”

Gooseflesh erupted along Victoria’s arms and neck at the quiet accusation in his tone. He met the baron’s gaze without hesitation, unblinking. She wanted to both embrace him and strike him in the same breath.

“Who are you?” Wilhelm snapped, his eyes darting between Victoria and the man, clearly registering the connection.

“I am Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant,” the creature replied smoothly. “And who might you be?”

There was something in his voice—polite, measured—that carried the unmistakable shadow of a threat, neatly wrapped in civility.

“Assistant?” the baron repeated, turning toward him. “Yes…yes, that’s right. I recall now. My acquaintances mentioned that the doctor’s assistant aided him during previous treatments.” He stepped back slightly and offered an apologetic nod. “Forgive our intrusion. You’ve been…secluded in this castle, it seems.”

Victoria shot Innominatus a warning glance, but he did not look at her.

“Yes,” he said mildly. “Unfortunately, I’m chained to my work and do not get out as often as I would like.” The corner of his mouth twitched, as though something darker had almost surfaced, before his eyes flicked briefly toward Victoria.

“Forgive us,” the baron said, extending a hand, his smile smooth and practiced. “May I ask your name, sir?”

For the first time, Innominatus faltered.

“Innominatus Creatura,” Victoria said quickly, stepping forward before the moment could fracture further. “This is the Mr. Innominatus Creatura. Please—please forgive me for my lack of introduction.”

Unnamed Creature. A small, traitorous warmth stirred in her chest at the name. Her father had chosen it once, shaped it with intention, as though even then he had known the weight of naming something that should not exist.

“Bezýmyannoye Sushchéstvo,” he echoed softly, a quiet laugh threading through the words. Unnamed creature. The sound of it seemed to please him more in his native tongue, as if the truth rang truer there.

“Innominatus,” Wilhelm said, narrowing his gaze. “That accent—Russian, is it? Faint but unmistakable. Have you been in Germany long?”

“Lang genug,” Innominatus replied in flawless German. Long enough.

The baron shifted, clearly unsettled by the sudden presence in the room. “Yes, well. I can see you are a busy man. We will not intrude further.” He turned toward the door, already ushering Wilhelm back. “Give our regards to your father, Victoria. We hope he is well enough to attend the ball on the twentieth.”