The trees grabbed at me, twigs and branches like claws. My dress caught repeatedly, and my hair tumbled free. I ran until I reached the hollowed-out willow tree where I had read Henry’s last letter to me. How would things have been different if I had not been the cause of Henry’s departure? How would things have been different if I had not selfishly gone to Ingolstadt to chase Victor and secure my own stability?

I curled up in the tree, burning with hatred and guilt and secrets. Judge Frankenstein had said the truth would come out. But how could it, when I had worked so hard to obscure it?

—

I awoke with a start. I scrambled free from the tree, pushing against its confines. How had I fallen asleep? The night—for day had passed me unaware—was hungry and vicious, another storm punishing the land for our failure to protect the innocent.

Lightning lit my way and rain lashed my face. I ran toward where I thought the house was, all sense of direction scrambled in my disorientation. I stumbled and fell. My hands and knees slammed into the ground. I let my head hang heavy. I had brought all this down on us. And then I had fallen asleep, while my Justine was somewhere in a cell! I had to get to her. I could not help William now, but I could help Justine. I had to fix this somehow, because one truth remained: if I did not, no one would.

Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. I lifted my head.

“Damn you!” I shouted at the skies. “Damn you for watching and never helping! I curse you! I curse you for ever creating man, only to let him destroy the most innocent among us, over and over and over again!”

Movement drew my attention and I whipped around, certain it was Judge Frankenstein and that he had heard my blasphemy. I lifted my chin, defiant.

But the figure blacker than the night was not my benefactor. I lunged toward him. It was the charnel house man. I would kill him myself, keeping Victor’s secrets, avenging William, and freeing Justine!

Some animal instinct halted my violent intent, and I froze.

It was not the weasel of a man I had encountered in Ingolstadt.

I dreaded another flash of lightning for what it might reveal of the person in the trees watching me. He stood at least seven feet tall, a hulking and unnatural creature. Fear drained my fury.

“What are you?” I demanded. I had seen it before. Was it a manifestation of my guilt? My own wickedness, formed by my mind and projected outward? Was it the charnel house man, swollen to devilish proportions by his evil?