Page 85 of Her Creation

“Must I go back down?” he asked quietly. Disappointment painted his face. “Won’t I smell of death and decay again?” His voice sharpened with urgency. “It’s horrible down there, Victoria. I do not think I can stand it much longer. The stench alone is unbearable. I will bury your father if you tell me where to dig. He deserves peace. I am stronger now than I was—I can dig deep enough even in the frozen ground. You do not even need to be there if you do not—”

“Do not touch my father,” Victoria snapped, spinning on him as she held the cellar door open. The thought of someone—anyone else—meddling with her father sent her into a flurry of anger. It was a reminder that she could not ignore the circumstances. She glanced down the stairs and was reminded of why her father was no longer with her. That this had been his last view before he died while she was off staring at Innominatus like a lovesick puppy. The creation of him had cost her, her father. The scent of rot crept upward, clinging to her skin, her lungs. “A new waistcoat and a few kind words do not make you human,” she said harshly. “They make you my creation. My horrible, horrible creation. No matter how well we pretend, you will always be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. My father would still be here had I not loved you so fully, and I will never make that mistake again. No matter how much I care for you, that will never change.” Her voice broke only slightly. “And for that,” she added, quieter, “I am sorry.”

The devastated look on his face felt like it dragged her down into the laboratory, into the cold chamber with her father.

“Then make me another like me,” he said at last. His voice was steady, but something inside it was desperate and fractured. “So that I am not alone. Make me another like me so that I may think of someone other than you.” His eyes burned with something raw and aching. “You have filled my thoughts. My soul is consumed by you in a way you seem incapable of understanding. It is torture for you not to return my feelings. Make another monster like me so that I can love someone that wants me just as I am!”

“No!” Victoria shouted. The idea of Innominatus with another sent an inferno of emotions rolling into her. Him turning that attention, that devotion, that body toward someone else, sent pinpricks of pain across her temple. Her anger flared hot and irrational. It was a push and pull that would soon tip her over the edge. “I will not make the same mistake twice,” she lashed out. “What if they were more monstrous than you?”

His jaw tightened, pain flashing through his amber eyes like a blade. “You continue to call me a monster,” he said quietly, “but I was born only of the materials you chose. If I am grotesque, it is because you built me from pieces you deemed unworthy.”

The words struck deeper than she expected. He wasn’t grotesque. He was beautiful and wonderful and everything she could have ever wanted. If only loving him wouldn’t ruin her—wouldn’t go against her father’s wishes.

Without another glance, Innominatus stepped past her and descended into the basement. The darkness swallowed him whole.

And she stood there, shaking, aching, knowing with terrifying certainty that she had just pushed away the only person who had ever made her feel anything—and the only man she had ever wanted.

Chapter 24

March, 1803 Log entry

Recounting events 1773–1795 Location: Unknown

You don’t look like a doctor’s assistant. You look like a ducal enforcer.” Victoria leaned her back against the wall of the laboratory with a scowl painted on her face half caused by the scent of vinegar in the air after she had sprinkled it about to dull the stench.

She had barely managed to get any sleep the night before, and what little she’d gotten had been on the great-room floor between sewing the final bits of Innominatus’s outfit. Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad thing that her mother had forced her to set the textbooks down and learn to sew all those years ago. Innominatus looked absolutely devastating. He was dressed plainly, well enough to pass as respectable, yet there was something about him that set the room on edge. She had tied his shoulder-length black hair back low with a matching black ribbon. His cravat had been positioned to cover the majority of his most eye-catching scars, and the few on his face she made less noticeable with a bit of rice powder.

“You look like a divine goddess wrapped in muslin. What is that color? It brings out the mahogany obsidian in your eyes,” Innominatus asked.

Victoria froze. “It’s the same as my other dresses,” she snipped. “It’s the exact color of the blood that fueled your original body, if you must know.” Every moment in his presence sparked frustration and irritation since last night.

“My blood?” His eyes pinned her. “Why would you match it to your dresses?”

She heaved out an impatient breath. “Because I was thoroughly infatuated with you. It’s fitting. Something of the past, just like the blood from that body. Now turn around.”

From the moment she woke, she had been furious about having to go to the ball. Who were they to just demand that she and her “father’s assistant” go? She wouldn’t be in the position she was in were it not for their pompous demands.

“You need something that says you’re a doctor’s assistant… Oh! I know,” she exclaimed and ran to grab something behind her father’s desk. When she returned, Victoria held her father’s brown leather physician’s bag. “Here, carry this. No one will ask why you have it. They don’t care about anyone but themselves, but it will do the trick. Make sure they see you with it and then you can leave it with your coat once you’re there.”

Innominatus took the bag and held it at his side.

“Hm…better, but you still look…intimidating. How can we make you look more academic?” She tapped her chin, lost in thought for a moment, before running to the back of the laboratory and grabbing a small box from the old shelves crowded with equipment and forgotten experiments.

The corners of Innominatus’s mouth curled as he watched her go. He opened the stiff bag and peeked inside. “This bag is empty?”

“You will not be performing any medical treatments. It is for looks alone.” She stepped up to him, so close that he sucked in a breath and waited with wide, curious, citrine eyes to see what she would do next.

Victoria rose onto her tiptoes and placed a pair of brass spectacles on his face, careful to ensure they sat properly on his nose and ears.

Innominatus’s unwavering eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment the two of them simply stared at one another, the ball and the spectacles forgotten somewhere in the background.

Victoria broke away and moved several feet back to assess his entire appearance. He looked good. Better than good. He looked the part perfectly, handsome and intelligent, with just enough of his intimidating presence leaking through the edges that most people would likely avoid speaking to him longer than necessary.

“I cannot believe I have to do this,” she muttered aloud. It was more likely than not that by the end of the night her entire world would be turned upside down by the discovery that Innominatus was not a man at all but a resurrected specimen that she could not kill. She would be thrown in jail, or worse. She felt her body tremble, and despite every effort to stop herself, her eyes fell on the body that had been her only rock when she had needed one. Now, he would be her demise.

Innominatus’s hands clenched around the handle of the bag, as if restraining himself from going to her. “I will not let them know,” he said softly.

Victoria turned her back to him and moved to her desk. The pungent scent of decay intensified the closer she came to the cold chamber.