But there was no time. If I did not find Victor today, Justine would make us go home. And I could not return to that place. Not without what I came for. I could not go back to running the whole household for that silent, ungrateful man, worried every day that this would be the day he informed me I was no longer necessary. That my time as a temporary Frankenstein was at an end. That I was well and truly on my own forever.

This librarian could and would help me. I smiled benignly. “Yes, actually. I am looking for my cousin. He has recently moved, and we began our trip before his letter with his new address reached us.”

Justine turned her head sharply at my falsehood, but I pushed on.

“I am afraid his landlord has been ill and was not able to rescue Victor’s new information from an overzealous maid. So you can see our dilemma! We are quite desperate to find him. As he loves nothing more than books, and this is the finest library I have ever seen, I am certain we will find some trace of him here!”

The man sighed in exasperation but visibly softened. I was not here for his precious books. I was just a girl looking for a boy.

“A great many students use our books. I doubt I will be of any help. What is his name? Victor?”

“Yes. Victor Frankenstein.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows lifted in surprise and recognition, nearly dislodging his spectacles. “I do know that name. He used to haunt these rows, often here until we closed for the night. Several times I even found him waiting on the steps for us to open in the morning; I suspected he never went home. An odd, intense young man.”

I beamed. “That is our Victor!”

“Well, I am sorry to say he has not been here in—”

“A year?” I said with a defeated sigh.

“More like seven or eight months. At that point, he had exhausted even this library’s tremendous reserves.”

My heart beat faster as my hopes expanded. That would have been after he left his original lodgings! “And do you have his address?”

“No.”

My hopes were dashed. I tried to keep my expression from showing my true despair as I reached into my purse to withdraw one of the last cards I had written up. “If you think of—”

“You might try the bookseller.”

I paused, my fingers still buried in silk. “Who?”

“There is a bookseller three streets over. A foreigner. Turn left out of the library, and then the next right. He specializes in difficult-to-obtain science and philosophy tomes that are both too expensive and too radical for us to stock here. I gave his name to your cousin, and that was when he stopped visiting us.”