Heretic
Classes went by in a blur; he barely listened these days.
All he desired was to run back home and right into the lab.
The only things he cared about were his little blue book, the butcher shop beneath his landlady’s house, and the ritual of lies to his landlady and fastidious cleaning that kept his work afloat.
He was getting close.
The practice was simple: he only had to recite the incantations while making skin to skin contact with a potential host. It didn’t appear to work on hosts that were completely well and not in need of whichever healing spell he was using. Even a child could manage such a thing.
Victor was able to suspend death untimely by a full ten minutes. Keep the small bodies breathing, hearts beating, blood pumping, and comatose before their flesh gave up the ghost. Was able to wait for eight minutes after full death and still achieve bodily reanimation.
He could wait for death, wait the length of time for him to eat an apple, then restart the body. Which would, of course, live for another bit before something pushed past his physical machinations to remind the body that it was indeed deceased.
But even that accomplishment was unheard of. And thrilling. Victor didn’t dare mention it to anyone at all—Mr. Sauer’s words of warning still echoing in his ears. But still, as he went to sleep every night, hands smarting from alcohol, eyes red from fumes, thoughts rushed through him.
Eight minutes was a thousand years when all you needed was three to stop gushing blood!
This suspension was enough for kinder men to do brilliant work. Even if Victor failed at this challenge and left his classmates behind in shame, he would still be important, still save lives.
That was all that mattered: he wouldn’t forget it.