Page 18 of Her Creation

The music softened to a melodious lull behind her as she made her way down the corridor and finally into the quiet of an empty room. It was plain, clearly not used for anything other than to show their wealth. She wondered briefly how many rooms in their castle had the same feeling to others. A feeling of empty uselessness despite the elaborate decor. She glanced at her dress and the glistening black silk of its empire waist and could not help but feel a kinship to the decorated, useless rooms. Her fingers itched inside her gloves, too hot, and she yearned to remove them and find a nice corner to dwell in. She’d hardly been there ten minutes, though, far too early to post herself in the corner.

After wandering through a few more rooms, exiting a few quickly when another set of people would enter, Victoria stepped into the nearest quiet space she could find.

Hundreds of lifeless heads mounted on every free inch of wall met her, the haunting glass eyes of red deer, roe deer, and enormous, horrifying wild boar all glaring at her. She made no sound, though her stomach had tightened into a knot that sat heavy and uncomfortable. She took several steps into the horrid space, examining the features of each mount, observing the coarse hair on the large stags and the oak plaques that held them on the walls. The dark-oak-paneled walls, though the many animal heads obscured most of it five feet up, caused the dimly lit corners of the room to whisper soft threats of eerie things that couldn’t be seen.

It was odd that this room, with its faint musk of preserved hides and sad undertones, brought Victoria enough comfort for her stiff shoulders to soften as she lifted the etched checkered glass of glühwein under her nose and inhaled the warm, spicy scent of cloves and cinnamon. The glass pressed against her lower lip, a slow heat seeping into her skin before she let the liquid fill her mouth. Spiced wine was a favorite treat of Victoria’s. Her mother had not allowed her to drink it while she was alive, but the memories of her mother stirring cloves and orange slices above a pot and smiling at Victoria while the heavenly smell filled the house made it one of Victoria’s favorite seasonal treats.

The sound of the door’s metal latch clicking shut startled her, and she felt the uncomfortable warmth of her sticky wine drip down her chest. She said a silent prayer that her black dress would hide her clumsiness.

“Hiding? Or were you hoping that I’d find you?” Wilhelm whispered into the back of her elaborate updo of glossy black hair.

Victoria’s eyes pinched tighter before they opened, and she took a few steps away from the man. The moment she caught his gaze, flashes of the same brown eyes that peered at her from beneath the blindfold flashed in her mind. For weeks Victoria had been a wreck, worried he’d actually been conscious enough to realize it was her. She had waited, and waited, and waited to see if he would tell everyone of what he’d seen—if he remembered. She didn’t dare bring it up with her father and cause him more stress.

So, a week prior to the dinner, when Wilhelm had sent a note to Victoria, she’d been sick with fear. She’d hardly been able to eat a full meal since, wondering if it was a threat or perhaps what her father thought, a kind gesture of thanks to the daughter of his savior.

Surprised by his words and the closeness of his presence, Victoria struggled to think. She noted his clean-shaven face, the small, round dimple in his square chin. He looked different like this, standing and full of life, than he had on the stone slab in the laboratory. They had been in the same room many times but had never really spoken. Victoria, who struggled with how to make a situation feel normal, curtseyed low, hoping to buy herself another moment to figure out what to do.

“Miss Victoria Frankenstein,” he said. His brown, serious eyes fixed on her. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”

Victoria felt the blood drain from her face with a chill and pool at the soles of her feet.

“I can call you Victoria, can’t I? Obviously, I’m happy to call you Miss Frankenstein if you prefer. However, you seem so unorthodox in your preferences that I just assumed it would be all right. Please call me Wilhelm.” He kept his dark eyes tethered to hers as he lifted her gloved hand and kissed it.

A foreign tingle of unease crawled up the base of Victoria’s spine. She looked at the closed door. “This is incredibly inappropriate. My father will be looking for me.” Her words held bite in the hopes that Wilhelm was one of those men who veered away when someone with teeth pushed back. A horrible, sinking feeling came over her.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that the devil himself would be proud of. “It all made sense when I saw you among the strange apparatus and oddly shaped bottles of mysterious colored liquid that night. I must admit, I’ve found myself significantly more intrigued by you.”

Everything inside her went cold. “You didn’t see me. I don’t enter the lab—it’s forbidden. My father would never allow such a thing—nor could I ever stomach such a thing,” she tried with a small smile.

Wilhelm flashed her a knowing smile once more. He slowly strode to the wall on the left.

Every muscle in Victoria’s body tightened. She forced her face into an expression of carelessness. “Forgive me, I do not know what you mean?” Her throat made a soft sound, clenched tightly as she struggled to swallow normally. Her skin was on fire; a light sheen of dampness had beaded on her forehead and upper lip. Forgetting all manners and etiquette, she stepped toward the closed door of the room, desperate to flee. “If you’ll excuse me, I should find my father.” She gathered her thick skirt and dashed a few paces.

“I have told no one, of course; you already know that. If I had, you and your father would not have been invited to this dinner.”

Victoria’s steps faltered, locking her body in place.

Wilhelm’s steps echoed as he closed the space between them. “I’ve been simply dying to see you again.”

Her skirt swished as she whirled around to meet him. This close, his large stature dwarfed and intimidated her, vastly different from when he lay beneath her, unconscious. She was suddenly aware of how alone they were and prayed that the door would open and others would enter.

She pushed out a small and convincing chortle despite her urge to scream. “I’m sorry, whatever do you mean? How are you healing, by the way? I was so pleased to hear my father could fix your wound.” She moved her eyes to the boar mount nearest them. “Boar hunting accident, was it not?” Her fingers pinched and worried at the onyx fabric at her side.

A predatory grin flashed across Wilhelm’s face. “Wonderful,” he said as though he were complimenting a play. “You know, Miss Victoria, we met before briefly. At Countess Montag’s for dinner.”

Victoria’s brows pinched as she searched the man’s face. She remembered attending the countess’s party, but she couldn’t find any other memories of the night. She could barely remember the event.

“You spent the entire evening on a settee reading.” His cool brown eyes searched her face, then moved farther down her figure before returning unabashedly to her gaze.

Despite Victoria’s innocence, agitation and worry quickened her pulse at the look in his eye. “Yes, I remember now,” she muttered as she took a step back.

“I didn’t spare you another thought until after you left and everyone spoke of how odd and dramatic you are. Jonathan Gaylord mentioned he thought you to be quite beautiful in an odd, mysterious way.” His hand was suddenly ghosting along her cheek. “And I have to say now that I very much agree. The rest thought you to be quite dramatic with your insistence on wearing black past the mourning period. I agree; it’s quite odd, though it lends an air of something more unusual. Something mysterious.”

Victoria urged her feet to walk. To run. To do anything other than stand frozen as they were. A low tap of metal sounded as someone tried to open the door and failed. The whites of Victoria’s eyes flashed as she realized the door was locked.

Wilhelm looked to the door for a single moment, and she took the opportunity to push out of his barricade and move to the open space toward the back of the room where an unlit fireplace decorated in antlers was located a few feet below a wiry-looking boar. Its mouth hung open, posed to show off the gilded tips of its tusks. Wilhelm’s neck stretched up to admire the beast. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke, still gazing at the trophy mounted on the wall.

“I caught this one myself.” He turned to face her. For a moment he almost appeared handsome. “It’s the largest in our collection.”