Page 13 of Adam, Mine

Victor followed him across the library to an area of half-filled shelves by a window. This collection was meager, drenched in moonlight, sparse and pathetic in comparison to the rest.

“There isn’t much in your area of study. Much of this library is mystery of physics and exploration of the stars, creatures of God and their uses, illusions and psychology of hypnotism and influence, fantasy and the uncanny. Manipulation of the human form is . . . dark arts indeed.”

“Do you have that same opinion on blood transfusions, a thing that would have been considered obscene last century, that has since saved thousands of lives?” Victor chanced a snide remark.

Mr. Sauer didn’t reply to that. He just made a curious face.

Victor picked up a book and flipped it open. “This just looks like magic tricks. Witchcraft.”

Mr. Sauer shrugged. “I was informed it was notable, so I collected it. I don’t practice or create. If it interests you, you can take it, but it must be brought back. It’s a part of this library and belongs with the rest of it. To be used for study only, of course. Practical application can be explored after graduation and placement with appropriate apprenticeship.”

Victor put that book back on the shelf and pulled another. “If I borrow this, when would you need it back by?”

“Before I die, hopefully?” Mr. Sauer joked. “You can take only one book at a time so choose wisely. Mr. Smidt hasn’t returned a text on tree signal communication and hasn’t been allowed to borrow anything new in fifteen years.”

Victor scanned the twenty texts and settled on a slim book titled Brain, Spirit, Body: The Forbidden Arts.

“Do you by chance know any other . . . alchemists that I can speak to?”

Mr. Sauer surprised Victor with a laugh. “Now that’s the forte of Fitz, my friend. I can borrow an address book from him. When you’ve finished this volume, you can come by and make an exchange.”

“Thank you.” Victor tucked the book under his arm and looked up into Mr. Sauer’s eyes, crinkled and kind.

“Truly, thank you. You didn’t have to accept me in this place, and I understand it is a privilege. When do you think you’ll be available for guests again? I’d love to come back.”

“Anytime. I never leave these walls,” Mr. Sauer admitted. “You wouldn’t either if you were familiar with the powers that lay beyond them.”

Groan

Victor didn’t stay for the rest of the party. He returned to the main room with Mr. Sauer, said his goodbyes to the rest of the men, and took off into the night.

The book he borrowed was burning a hole in his pocket, and he needed to return to his rooms to spend some time with it.

His landlady had long since gone to bed. The house was dark and he did not want to wake anyone. He crept upstairs, locked the door to his rooms, stripped off his clothes, and settled into bed.

The volume was the size of a pocket book. The linen cover had no text. Instead, there was an image of a hare embossed on the front. The title was written in white on the spine, and there was a date in the same ink on the inside of the back cover: 08-16-1731. The text inside was written entirely in blue ink. Not the greenish-blue, popular for illustrations these days but a dusty blue that reminded him of china plates.

Even the paper inside was strange. He paused for a minute, warring with himself, then licked the edge of a page. Vellum. Strange for such a small book. Vellum was mostly used for large illuminated religious texts, not personal ones.

The typeface was tiny, had the marks of an individual screen press, and the book was written—to Victor’s surprise—in conversational French. Like a journal and a textbook in one.

Victor’s French was passable but not perfect. He could read enough of these words to make use of the book, and it was fascinating beyond that.

The anonymous author was curious and enthusiastic, speaking with awe and reverence of that which he’d seen. It became clear that this was not the work of a scientist but the careful observations of a travel writer whose interest lay in seeking out stimulating subjects regarding the body and its limits.

The first few chapters were fascinating accounts of brain operations to change a person’s language or what colors their eyes saw by damage and manipulation of the physical brain flesh. There were interesting deliberations on Hypnotism and Haitian Zombies,* a few spells, and potions designed to strip free will from its hosts that made a chill run down Victor’s spine.

Spells perhaps was not the right word—perhaps prayers instead. Or maybe it wasn’t about the words at all. Maybe it was like how medieval medical chants were designed to measure time while performing procedures, less about enchantment than the rhythm of application. . . .

Anyhow, there were accounts of manipulation of the muscles with electrical stimulation. An elaborate theory for metallic replacement limbs and hands, stimulated into motion by the body’s own electrical current, that made Victor’s heart race. There were purification rituals and healing instructions.

Then, under a chapter titled “Manipulations de L’âme” were spells. There was a small foreword where the author commented on similar elements involved, such as electricity, water, and even magnets in some cases.

Though Victor was sure this was what he was looking for, there was some difficulty as the language began to veer toward vagueness and similarity.

Destruction of the soul is close to Deconstruction of the soul. Dividing of the soul to Divining of the soul. If not in language, then certainly in meaning.

If a spell designed to split a person’s soul into movable parts to then be removed or replaced was called Deconstruction of the soul, what was then Dividing of the soul in comparison? Divining of the soul was to what end? And how would one see that which was divined?