Chapter 13
Though their attempts to resurrect the crow a second time had failed, it taught Victoria the crucial lesson that even successful resurrection created a life that could be extinguished again.
The minor success was enough to convince her father that they were finally standing on the threshold of something monumental.
It was no longer theory, rehearsal, or academic defiance—it was proof.
Proof enough, at least, for him to insist that they were ready to attempt the full human resurrection on Innominatus.
Every waking hour became devoted to the Russian’s preserved body, to the refinement of their methodology, to the careful orchestration of what her father referred to, without irony, as the ultimate experiment.
Despite Alphonse’s worsening condition and the days when his hands shook so badly he could barely hold an instrument steady, his mind remained sharp, incisive, relentless.
His body betrayed him, but his intellect did not.
Days blurred into evenings, evenings into nights.
They worked tirelessly for weeks, refining equipment, recalibrating measurements, correcting infinitesimal flaws that only a desperate mind would notice.
By the time the night of the experiment loomed, the laboratory had transformed into something between a cathedral and a battlefield—every instrument assembled, every mechanism poised and waiting.
During this time, Victoria found it remarkably easy to avoid social interactions altogether.
Apart from a single visit from Helena, she kept herself entirely within the castle, moving between the upper rooms and the laboratory below like a ghost haunting her own life.
On the evening Helena visited, Alphonse had spent the entirety of the night working on Innominatus in the lab beneath them, and Victoria found herself incapable of enjoying her friend’s company.
Her body remained in the sitting room, but her mind was fixed on the bottommost floor of the castle, pacing beside her father among wires and glass and steel with the two men.
Still, the visit had been somewhat reassuring.
Helena made certain to tell her that none of the others had spoken about the incident.
More than that, her dear friend went out of her way to express gratitude—quiet, earnest gratitude—for Victoria’s role in helping Sophia.
It meant the world to Victoria. No one had ever praised her in such a way—no one except her father.
The validation lingered long after Helena left, glowing faintly beneath her ribs.
Carefully, cautiously, Victoria had inquired about the state of Wilhelm and Sophia’s relationship, but she didn’t really care. In truth, it was increasingly difficult to believe that much of anything mattered at all beyond Innominatus.
The realization came to her one evening as she watched her father race through the laboratory, moving with the frantic energy of a man possessed.
He finalized instruments, adjusted apparatuses, checked notes with trembling urgency.
When Victoria urged him to slow down, reminding him that they still had time, his response broke something open inside her. His eyes filled with tears.
“We do not,” he said hoarsely.
A stone lodged itself in Victoria’s throat. Her vision blurred as she watched tears slip from the corners of her father’s deeply lined eyes.
“This is my last chance,” he continued, voice unsteady, “to achieve something truly revolutionary before my body fails me completely and I’m to be stationed in a bed or chair for the rest of my days, incapable of caring for myself.
There are days now I can barely stand. Days when instead of giving you the benefit of my full instruction, I become the assistant, not only because of your capabilities, but because of a lack of mine. ”
Victoria moved to his side at once, guiding him to sit. He collapsed onto the worn leather sofa in the library, where moments before he had been desperately searching for a book of notes. The fire crackled fiercely behind her as she sat on the old chest they used as an ottoman.
“And what’s so bad about that?” she asked softly, leaning forward to take his shaking hands into her own steady ones.
“You have taught me well. I still need your knowledge. Is it so terrible that you should be my assistant? That you live the rest of your life in leisure, while I continue your legacy? This is not your last great experiment—perhaps only the last you physically orchestrate.”
By then, Alphonse had removed his spectacles, wiping at his eyes with visible irritation.
A small smile tugged at one corner of his worn mouth.
“And how long do you think this ruse will last?” he asked gently.
“It does not sit right with me to leave this burden to you. I must believe that before my life ends, there will come a day when women are respected in the medical field. But if that day does not come, how can I be at ease knowing I’ve left you with such a weight—and no protection?
I don’t know how many years I have left alive, but I know my days of surgery and experiments are closing. ”
Victoria leaned back against the trunk, the fire’s heat warming her until it bordered on painful.
She had never allowed herself to imagine what would come after her father’s death.
She had not considered how she might survive without him.
After her mother’s passing, survival had already felt improbable.
Without the only other person in her world, she could not envision a future at all.
They had to awaken Innominatus; they just had to. It felt already like a family as they all worked together, and she couldn’t imagine caring for her father without the support of Innominatus. She needed him to keep her sane when things got worse.
“Nonsense,” she said at last, forcing a smile. “I have plenty of options, I just choose you. Just yesterday Helena was begging me to visit her in France come spring.”
Alphonse nodded slowly. “Helena is a good friend. A good person. But she is married, and men do not enjoy being second to their wives’ friendships. Even in the best circumstances, such arrangements do not last.”
Victoria opened her mouth to tell Alphonse that Helena’s husband was quite busy and preoccupied with Helena’s brother and would not mind at all but then changed her mind.
“Perhaps once you have gone, then I will no longer have the urge for helping in the medical sense, and I will go somewhere quiet and beautiful. Not that I ever really did, I think. All I ever really wanted was to be capable of resurrection and reanimation, and that is something I will get to do with you. It’s no secret I do not have the patience for the people of this town in the way that you do—or for people in general.
I will continue on as long as is needed. ”
Victoria rose abruptly, unable to tolerate the fire at her back another moment.
The heat pressed too insistently against her spine, as though it were trying to brand her in place.
She faced the vast stone overhang of the mantel instead, her gaze drifting upward to the small, framed paintings of her mother arranged there.
The familiar brushstrokes caught the firelight, softening and sharpening by turns as the flames shifted behind her.
“No,” she said quietly at first, then with growing certainty, “I don’t believe I’m as pure and good of a soul as you are.
” Her voice hardened as she spoke, each word carrying more weight than the last. “In fact, I do not care about helping anyone—especially those of this town. They’ve caused me nothing but pain.
They call us names when they think I cannot hear.
They are cruel and dismissive.” Her jaw tightened.
“None of them were ever kind to Mother while she was alive.”
“You have more good in you than I, Victoria.”
Victoria spun back toward her father, the glow of the fire throwing a fierce halo around her silhouette, outlining her like a figure carved from shadow and flame.
“No. I help them for your sake,” she continued, unwavering.
“And once you are gone and with Mother, I wish to help them no more. I will find other means to survive. I don’t want to think about that, though.
You are here now, and even should you be in a chair or bed, you will be here decades longer with me.
Your soul is so pure, God will give you a long, happy life with me at your side. ”
Her father leaned back in his chair, absently rubbing the side of his thigh before his hand drifted to his chest. For a moment, she was confused—until she realized he was laughing.
“My soul is far from pure, I can assure you,” Alphonse said at last. “But if I saved people or helped them based solely on their ability to be kind to me, no one would get help. There must always be one person willing to help and do something knowing there will be no payment and no reward. The reward is not found in what others are capable of giving but in knowing you acted according to your own capacity. The sun asks nothing of us, yet all living things are sustained by its light. It does not withhold its radiance simply because we cannot shine back.”
“Still,” Victoria said, teeth gritted, frustration flaring again, “I cannot understand how you bear it. How many of them I have helped under a blanket of invisibility, and how often they have been rude—unkind—as though I were nothing. They at least treat you with kindness.”