Page 11 of Adam, Mine

Victor stumbled into the foyer, and the butler closed the door sharply behind him. Victor had his cloak stripped from him and hung in a closet by the door.

“Shoes off. Mr. Sauer doesn’t want damage to the wood.”

It was an odd request. But the black wood floors did gleam brightly, so Victor removed his shoes. His sock had a small hole in the toe. Victor covered it with his other foot, but the butler noticed it in an instant and sneered. The butler dug in the coat closet and produced a pair of plain black house slippers.

“Mind your first impression,” he hissed, and Victor’s cheeks burned.

There was the sound of talking and light music up ahead, but this was a mansion, and he was bound to end up anywhere if he followed noise instead of instruction.

“Where do I go?”

“Down the hall, to the left, and then a little farther, and the study is to the right. Do you need a chaperone?”

Victor shook his head. This certainly didn’t make him feel any less anxious and uncomfortable. His pulse thumped in his sweaty palms, and he wiped them on his trousers as he walked.

The Sauer Mansion was dimly lit and strangely decorated. Bright colors were preferable, if one could afford them. But Mr. Sauer’s home was a masterpiece of black, ivory, and steel. There was a coldness about it that made Victor uncomfortable but also excited him.

The music swelled as Victor approached the room, and he clenched his fists anxiously.

There were no less than twenty men in here. It was a comfortable study, red carpets, red walls, red chairs and couches. There were two servers with food on trays, a violinist and pianist in the corner by the window, and a large bar with a barman. His face was as severe as the butler’s.

The moment Victor stepped over the threshold, a small shout from the back of the room pierced the air.

“The Young Aesthete!” The man from the tavern swanned across the room, quickly clasping Victor’s shoulder.

His eyes were bright and wet, cheeks ruddy with drink.

“I wasn’t sure you’d gather up the courage, though I’m quite glad you did. Come, meet the others,” he said, blowing breath scented strongly of port directly into Victor’s face.

The man guided Victor across the room and right to a small gathering of three others, heedless of the curious glances.

There was a blond, bearded man dressed all in pale yellow; a stout balding man in gray tweed; and a tall, long-haired man in black boiled wool. They all looked amused but slightly annoyed by this man’s histrionics.

“Mr. Burghart, Mr. Smidt, and Mr. Sauer,” he said, pointing at each guest, before pressing a hand to his chest. “And you can call me Fitz!”

Victor shook everyone’s hand and felt quite small and quite young. “Victor Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein? Of the great Alphonse Frankenstein?! God, I should have known. Greatness can only beget greatness in its own way,” Fitz said. He turned to Mr. Sauer. “I found this one in a tavern talking about suspended life states with the veracity of Bradley King or that American John Forthright. Sitting among a gaggle of students who didn’t seem to understand or care much about his theory, and I just couldn’t leave well enough alone. You know me—”

“Yes, we know you,” Mr. Smidt muttered in kind reproach.

“Anyway.” Fitz rolled his eyes. “They were talking him away from some serious revelations, and I figured it would be prudent to save a good mind from dying among the rabble, so it were.”

“You mean the age-appropriate peers from which you removed him?” Mr. Sauer remarked.

“And that’s just the thing!” Fitz exclaimed. “He looks like a child, but this Victor Frankenstein is in graduate school. He’ll be employable within the year!”

He tightened his grip on Victor’s shoulder, then pushed him forward a bit, like he was doing show-and-tell.

“Go on, explain to them your theory and invention.”

The room was suddenly very quiet and very warm. Victor could tell everyone was listening; even the servers had stopped moving around the space.

“I . . . I have found a way to preserve a body without the brain, via electrical pulse and bellow, holding it in a comatose state for a few seconds after natural expiration. Not . . . human, of course, and it’s not very long, but it’s a promising start. I do believe that with sufficient electrical stimulation and alchemical filtration of post-death blood impurities, I may be able to reverse . . .”

The music had ceased playing. Victor, anxious, also stopped talking.

“You see—” Fitz began, but Mr. Sauer held up a hand.