Page 8 of Adam, Mine

“I didn’t get where I am from money. I got here from working hard. Just like you, Gregor,” Victor said slowly.

His irritation made him feel crisp; the room around him sharpened in resolution. Petyr shrugged and took a long swallow of his drink.

“Most of us are here to become very valuable to very rich men. Alchemists make good money, more and more of it as we age,” Petyr pointed out. “It is a privilege to be able to dream of a world beyond this where work can be your pleasure.”

“This isn’t a game for me,” Victor said, pushing away from the table. “I thought you brought me here because you understood.”

Petyr crossed his arms and leaned back to look at him. “I brought you here because you interested me for a moment. Nothing more.”

The superiority in Petyr’s gaze made a hole open in Victor’s chest. The way Petyr sat in his chair like a lord. More sober and steady than any of them, even though he’d matched them all drink for drink.

“Is there anything I could ever have done to make you all take me seriously?” Victor asked quietly.

Henry shrugged beside him. “Confident men don’t usually seek approval from others, but you’re what, sixteen, seventeen now? Are you even a man?”

Victor closed his eyes and tried to shove the prickling back down his throat. “If I am not yet a man but I am standing beside you in every way that matters, how much more of one will I be, given enough time to match you?”

And it was the core of their issue with each other. Henry was a man who hated being bested, and Victor had bested him time and again.

Jonsi whistled low, impressed. “He’s got you there, Henry.”

Henry chuckled, then leaned his chin on his hands, blue eyes twinkling. “What a marvel, even in his fury,” he whispered. “I’d like to see what man you become, Victor Frankenstein.”

“I wouldn’t,” Gregor scoffed.

Petyr was still staring at him, steady and open. “Show us, then. One of your accomplishments, built from your own sweat.”

“Why should I? It would never matter.” Victor was done here. He could not cry in public. He looked up at the bartender and began calculating what he owed in drinks so he could leave this place without any debts to these people.

Petyr leaned forward. “It would matter to you,” he said. “An opportunity to show the fruits of your talents instead of drowning us all in your contemplation of theory. You can prove Henry wrong, silence his boasting. You can reduce Gregor to hot wind. Jonsi . . . has behaved himself.”

“And you?” Victor asked.

Petyr tilted his head and smiled. “Money. Perhaps Gregor is right, you do seem to have more of it than you know what to do with. I . . . am a farmer’s son. I walked into this city with the clothes on my back, and I’m set to walk out of it with much the same.”

Victor hadn’t known that. He looked at Petyr harder, beyond his flash and poise. At the wear on the collar of his jacket, the split seams on his sleeves mended with careful hand. The undershirt ever so slightly out of fashion but bleached and starched crisp.

“I have a bit of savings, though,” Petyr continued. “I’m willing to place it on a bet, if you’re bold enough to take it.”

Gregor reached out a hand and clasped Petyr’s shoulder.

“No, my friend, let me. Do not waste what you—” He paused, uncomfortable with letting Victor witness their closeness.

Gregor tilted his chin up. “Thirty marks. Me to you if you succeed at a true reanimation, three hundred to us if you fail.”

“What?!” Victor exclaimed. “Absolutely not; that’s ridiculous.”

“Four years you’ve forced us to listen to what you could do,” Gregor said, and he sounded much more sober than he had moments ago. “What’s the matter now? Do you believe in yourself less than we do?”

Victor looked around the table and his stomach sank. He finally understood that he’d been had this entire time. His wine-soaked brain tried to replay the events of the night, his own boasting, and wild claims. It would be embarrassing to back out now, much less with Henry’s taunting of his manhood so fresh in Victor’s ears.

Three hundred marks was close to what he got every two months from home. It was a large sum but not an unachievable one. Petyr clearly needed it, despite pretending he didn’t.

It wasn’t unreasonable to believe that they could be resources for each other after their apprenticeships. Petyr’s focus was energy, and what if Victor’s medical machines needed a stronger power source than his employer could provide?

Victor looked at each member of the group: none of them was without value and each of them had potential. Even Gregor could soften as he aged, become a friend and a better man. Victor knew it was a weakness, but he was incapable of looking at anyone and not seeing the ability for kinship. If only he knew the right words to say to earn it.

Victor closed his eyes. “Fine. Thirty marks to me and three hundred* to you if I fail.”