Chapter 22
Victoria sat at the edge of her father’s bed, careful not to move the blankets atop it too much.
She sniffled, hands resting on her knees, and wondered how long she could continue this lie.
Eventually, people would realize her father was missing.
He’d been more reclusive in his last months, but someone would notice when they didn’t see him at all.
She had no money to tuck away. All their expenses were covered in merchant notes.
Even if she could find a way out, there was nowhere for her to go.
She couldn’t go to Helena’s—not with Innominatus.
Her father didn’t deserve to be trapped in the cold chamber, but she refused to bury him anywhere other than next to her mother.
Until she could figure that out, he would stay in the cold chamber, tucked safely away until she could bring herself to let him go.
The sound of a bell ringing fractured the silence. Her stomach bottomed out as a wave of cold washed over Victoria. She stood, careful to keep the blankets as they were, left the room, and headed to the basement.
Her pupils dilated as they landed on the nearly eight-foot man holding the door to the tunnel open. Her breath stalled at the shadowy figure. His eyes sharpened in a golden-yellow blaze as he held the door open—not for escape, but for her.
She paused in front of him, closer than she should have, as if she should say something—tell him to step back, to move away from the threshold—but she didn’t.
“Could you grab the linens while I get the patient?” she said, more because she needed something to say than because the task actually required his help.
For a moment she simply relished in the feel of standing so close to him.
She could feel the heat from his body press through her dress and into her skin, the warm breath from his mouth on her face.
Something faint and almost pleasant passed through his eyes, though his face remained stoic, severe, as if it had been carved from stone.
“I’ve already prepared the linens and coverings,” he said.
She turned and saw the coverings and linens already laid out on the long table. All her tools—those she had left in their display earlier—had been moved and arranged to the side in a tight, precise order. The lamps she would need were lit. The basins were filled.
Victoria looked back at Innominatus as the bell tolled again.
Her eyes drifted to the faded purple scars crossing his chest, to the dark skin visible beneath the dirty cotton shirt she had lazily made for him.
Her lids fluttered as she fought the sting behind her eyes—in that chest beat her father’s heart.
She turned and moved toward the second door, acutely aware of his gaze at her back. Her shoulders tightened. Was he waiting for something? Everything he did felt so deliberate, so carefully considered—was he planning something more?
She walked out to the gate, all emotion draining from her the moment she saw the three horses. When there was no carriage, it usually meant an emergency—or that the injured person was of lower class and did not own one.
“We need the doctor!” a tall man called, the wind tearing at his voice.
Victoria’s eyes went immediately to the woman in his arms, to the way his hands tightened around her. He was a large man, in both height and breadth. Victoria glanced at the two riders still mounted behind him, both young, roughly dressed girls, no older than fifteen.
“She’s been crushed,” the man said, his voice trembling. “She slipped on the ice as the cart passed at market. Please, I know Dr. Frankenstein normally sees—”
Victoria waved away the implication of class. Her father never cared, nor would she. “What was in the cart?” she asked.
He looked back at the girls. “It was a hay cart,” the younger blond one shouted against the wind.
Victoria nodded. Cart accidents were often fatal, but the weight varied depending on the load.
“I’ll take a look at her—my father—” She stopped, letting the wind steal the words. “I’ll take her to my father. He’ll look at her. Wait here.”
She moved to take the limp woman, but the man stepped forward immediately. “I’ll carry her inside to see Dr. Frankenstein.”
Victoria’s pulse spiked. Peasant or not, they would see her father was not there. They could not step inside the laboratory.
“I—no. You can’t go inside. You must remain out here,” she said, the weakness in her voice betraying her.
Confusion passed between them. Victoria glanced back at the propped door, then to the woman’s ashen face. “Inno.” She cut the name short as she called out. “Inno, please—” Her voice wavered. “Please come to the gate. I need your help.”
Before the last syllable left her mouth, Innominatus appeared in the doorway. His shoulders were so broad he had to angle them to fit.
Her breath caught as he stepped out of the darkness and the afternoon light landed on his face and shoulders.
Something like pride rose unexpectedly behind her ribs. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Yellow eyes flashed as the sun touched them and he squinted. His chest lifted as he took a long breath of fresh, icy air. For only a fraction of a second, a smile lit his face up before it dropped, and he once again turned serious.
His gaze remained tethered to hers as he closed the distance between them in only a few strides of his long, powerful legs.
“Could you please carry Mrs.—” Victoria paused, glancing at the older man, whose eyes widened nervously as Innominatus approached.
“Ilse Tratrasky,” the man said quickly. “Please. She is my beloved wife and the mother of my girls.”
Innominatus stepped closer, reaching for the woman. Victoria watched as the man’s fingers tightened instinctively around her, knuckles whitening. “I—uh—”
“Forgive me,” Innominatus said, his voice friendly and careful.
“I am Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant.” He hesitated, then glanced briefly at Victoria.
“Innominatus Creatura.” He gently scooped the woman from the man’s arms, but paused, hovering for a moment as if gauging their fear.
“I can promise you,” he continued, his tone unexpectedly sincere, almost reverent, “that the doctor will do everything within their capable hands to help your wife.”
A shiver traced its way between Victoria’s shoulder blades at the sound of his voice—so measured, so steady, so comforting it nearly hurt to hear. She looked to the girls, expecting fear.
Instead, they were watching Innominatus with fragile hope, their eyes fixed on him as if he were an answer rather than a terror.
Everyone seemed unaware that the monster she had created was in their presence—that he could snap and turn on them all in the blink of an eye; she knew he was capable. Victoria would not have blamed him if he did. In fact, few would empathize with him more than her.
“How far have you traveled from?” Innominatus asked the man as he readjusted the woman in his arms, holding her with care.
“Just the other side of Grundvich,” the man answered, brushing the hair back from his unconscious wife’s face.
“Grundvich. How far is that from town? From here?” Innominatus pressed carefully.
Victoria shivered. “Their location is not important.” She knew exactly what he was doing. Mapping distance, calculating proximity, silently planning.
He turned from the man to face Victoria.
Instead of the irritated scowl she expected, a faintly amused spark danced in his golden eyes.
In the light of day, she could see how plainly he was not of this world, though no one else seemed to notice.
His scars, his mismatched skin, the subtle imperfections of her creation—they went unseen or unremarked upon.
The family, instead of recoiling, relaxed in his presence, contrary to all she would have assumed.
The father looked away from Victoria, returning his worried expression to Innominatus. “Grundvich is about an hour that way,” he said, pointing past the dark, forest-covered path they had ridden in on. “An hour on horseback, more by carriage.”
Innominatus nodded, already finished with the information.
“We need—he really needs to get her inside to my father. There is a barn farther along the path; please, stay warm there, and we—he will do what he can,” Victoria said sternly, attempting to guide Innominatus back to the laboratory. She placed her palm flat on his back.
The instant her palm touched him, he turned to look at her. Thick brows creased in a troubled, almost pained expression.
When they were far enough from the family, Victoria leaned close. She needed to know if he had injured himself, or if something else was wrong. “Have you hurt your back? You look like you were just in pain when I touched you.”
In the daylight, there was no disguising the way his gaze traveled over her mouth and back up to her eyes, as if it could not decide where to rest. “No. I’m not in pain. Not physically anyway,” he said, eclipsing her as he entered the first door.
Victoria reluctantly removed her hand from Innominatus and ran to open the laboratory door, only to fall behind him as he tilted the woman effortlessly and grabbed the handle, moving inside with her in his arms as he held the door open for Victoria.
In all the times she and her father had carried patients, it had never been as smooth, as seamless.
A splinter of irritation jabbed into her at the realization.
She watched in awe as he set the robust woman on the table without so much as a grunt of discomfort.
He immediately grabbed the apron Victoria had adopted to keep her dresses cleaner, holding it at the perfect height.
She stepped forward to examine the patient, and the apron was tied at her back before she even realized it.
“Thank you,” she muttered. Her eyes drifted toward the chilled closet, and she wondered if she could have been more helpful to her father as an assistant while he was still alive.