Page 26 of Adam, Mine

Victor called for water and a washcloth and put himself to rights, wiping the soot from his face and clothes.

He hurried from the inn and back to the areas of town where he was most comfortable. He could still smell the smoke in the air from the fire, but no one looked at him closer than usual.

The house itself was a charred husk, and his neighbor’s beside it was badly singed but still standing. There was nothing left on the first floor. All was blackened wood and twisted metal. The floor had caved into the basement.

Victor tested the plaster wall but it seemed steady, so he used it as a ramp into his beloved lab.

Everything glass was smashed. His notebooks were half ruined, saved in part perhaps by the saline that had spilled over most everything in Elias’s initial destruction. All his machines built in copper and brass had boiled and warped, becoming misshapen, unrecognizable, and useless. So Victor sat in the mess and sketched out the details of his blood, breathing, and heart machines. Listing their parts, design, and any measurements that were still fresh in his mind before they faded.

Any small valuable objects left around the house he collected and stored safely in his shoulder bag—most of his landlady’s jewels, some sentimental ceramics that were spiderwebbed with cracks, tatters left over from his letters from Elizabeth. His searches were fruitful in both items found and items not: namely valuables that would soothe his landlady’s ire when she returned from her trip and Elias’s body living or dead lying in wait for him.

Victor took the baubles and the fire marker* from the building to his landlady’s insurance company to be collected by her in his absence. Affixed to the entire mess: a short, false description of an accident that led to the fire and a letter promising additional money to cover losses should her insurance fail to cover a rebuild or purchase of a property of similar size and value. And, of course, an apology.

Then Victor took a steadying breath and headed, blue book in hand, to Mr. Sauer’s residence.

In the daytime, it was much less imposing than at night. The broad high gate was opulent and the gardens brilliant green in the sunshine. Victor still felt sick and apprehensive as he knocked on the door.

The butler answered, and he didn’t look happy to see Victor at all.

“Come to call without an invitation, I see,” he said dryly. “Just visited the once and your entitlement seems to have reached a fever pitch.”

Victor ignored him. “I must see Mr. Sauer. I have a book to return.”

“You can just hand that to me,” the butler said, reaching out, but Victor turned away from him, tucking the blue book out of sight.

“And to borrow one,” he snapped.

The butler looked down at him archly for a moment before leaving him on the doorstep with a promise to return.

Victor waited impatiently, glancing behind him at people walking by on the street. Curious eyes roved over him in a way that made it immediately clear that this house didn’t receive guests during waking hours. Victor slid behind one of the grand pillars so he was hidden from sight.

The door swung open again, this time with Mr. Sauer filling it. The man was dressed in an opulent housecoat with his nightshirt peeking out the top. His hair was in disarray, as though he had just been awakened, despite it being midday. He squinted against the glare of the sun.

“Young Mister Frankenstein, why, it’s been months? And at such a strange hour?” Mr. Sauer asked.

Victor shrugged anxiously. “I must speak to you, urgently. May I come in?”

Mr. Sauer moved to the side, nonplussed. “I had to see for myself. I was sure Reiner was mistaken.”

“Do you have somewhere private—?” Victor started, looking around. The butler was standing to the right, glaring, and Victor was certain he didn’t want him eavesdropping.

Mr. Sauer—finally inferring that this was some sort of emergency—led Victor to the library and shut the door firmly behind them.

Victor held out the blue book immediately.

“In exchange for Fitz’s address book. I need help with something.”

Mr. Sauer carefully took the blue book back and turned it over, inspecting for damage, then, as if on a whim, he sniffed it.

“Formaldehyde,” he whispered, then looked up at Victor in shock. “What have you done?”

Victor squared his shoulders. “Something that must be undone.”

Mr. Sauer tossed the book recklessly in a nearby armchair and began pacing. He paused and let out a bark of horrified laughter, then looked back at Victor.

“Some things cannot always be undone, son of man. What evil have you wrought with the gift of knowledge?” Mr. Sauer threw open his arms in defeat.

Victor didn’t want to tell him. All at once he felt very small and very young.