Cover

ALSO BY KIERSTEN WHITE

Paranormalcy

Supernaturally

Endlessly

Mind Games

Perfect Lies

The Chaos of Stars

Illusions of Fate

And I Darken

Now I Rise

Bright We Burn

Dedication

For Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, whose creation still electrifies our imaginations two hundred years later

— and —

For everyone made to feel like a side character in their own story

Epigraph

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

To mould me man? Did I solicit thee

From darkness to promote me?

—John Milton, Paradise Lost

Part One: How Can I Live Without Thee?

Chapter One: To Be Weak Is Miserable

LIGHTNING CLAWED ACROSS THE sky, tracing veins through the clouds and marking the pulse of the universe itself.

I sighed happily as rain slashed the carriage windows and thunder rumbled so loudly we could not even hear the wheels bump when the dirt lane met the cobblestones at the edge of Ingolstadt.

Justine trembled beside me like a newborn rabbit, burying her face in my shoulder. Another bolt lit our carriage with bright white clarity before rendering us temporarily deaf with a clap of thunder so loud the windows threatened to loosen.

“How can you laugh?” Justine asked. I had not realized I was laughing until that moment.

I stroked her dark hair where strands dangled free from her hat. Justine hated loud noises of any type: Slamming doors. Storms. Shouting. Especially shouting. But I had made certain she had endured none of that in the past two years. It was so odd that our separate origins—similar in cruelty, though differing in duration—had had such opposite outcomes. Justine was the most open and loving and genuinely good person I had ever known.

And I was—

Well. Not like her.

“Did I ever tell you Victor and I used to climb out onto the roof of the house to watch lightning storms?”

She shook her head, not lifting it.

“The way the lightning would play off the mountains, throwing them into sharp relief, as though we were watching the creation of the world itself. Or over the lake, so it looked like it was in both the sky and the water. We would be soaked by the end; it is a wonder neither of us caught our death.” I laughed again, remembering. My skin—fair like my hair—would turn the most violent shades of red from the cold. Victor, with his dark curls plastered to his sallow forehead, accentuating the shadows he always bore beneath his eyes, would look like death. What a pair we were!

“One night,” I continued, sensing Justine was calming, “lightning struck a tree on the grounds not ten body lengths from where we sat.”

“That must have been terrifying!”

“It was glorious.” I smiled, placing my hand flat against the cold glass, feeling the temperature beneath my lacy white gloves. “To me, it was the great and terrible power of nature. It was like seeing God.”

Justine clucked disapprovingly, peeling herself from my side to give me a stern look. “Do not blaspheme.”

I stuck my tongue out at her until she relented into a smile.

“What did Victor think of it?”

“Oh, he was horribly depressed for months afterward. I believe his exact phrasing was that he ‘languished in valleys of incomprehensible despair.’ ”

Justine’s smile grew, though with a puzzled edge. Her face was clearer than any of Victor’s texts. His books always required further knowledge and intense study, while Justine was an illuminated manuscript—beautiful and treasured and instantly understandable.

I reluctantly pulled the curtains closed on the carriage window, sealing us away from the storm for her comfort. She had not left the house at the lake since our last disastrous trip into Geneva had ended with her insane, bereft mother attacking us. This journey into Bavaria was taxing for her. “While I saw the destruction of the tree as nature’s beauty, Victor saw power—power to light up the night and banish darkness, power to end a centuries-old life in a single strike—that he cannot control or access. And nothing bothers Victor more than something he cannot control.”

“I wish I had known him better before he left for university.”

I patted her hand—her brown leather gloves a gift Henry had given me—before squeezing her fingers. Those gloves were far softer and warmer than my own. But Victor preferred me in white. And I loved giving nice things to Justine. She had joined the household two years earlier, when she was seventeen and I was fifteen, and had been there only a couple of months before Victor left us. She did not really know him.

No one did, except me. I liked it that way, but I wanted them to love each other as I loved them both.

“Soon you will know Victor. We shall all of us—Victor and you and me—” I paused, my tongue traitorously trying to add Henry. That was not going to happen. “We will be reunited most joyfully, and then my heart will be complete.” My tone was cheery to mask the fear that underlay this entire endeavor.

I could not let Justine be worried. Her willingness to come as my chaperone was the only reason I had managed this trip. Judge Frankenstein had initially rejected my pleadings to check on Victor. I think he was relieved to have Victor gone, did not care when we had no word. Judge Frankenstein always said Victor would come home when he was ready, and I should not worry about it.

I did. Very much. Particularly after I found a list of expenses with my name at the top. He was auditing me—and soon, I had no doubt, he would determine that I was not worth holding on to. I had done too well, fixing Victor. He was out in the world, and I was obsolete to his father.

I would not let myself be cast out. Not after my years of hard work. Not after all I had done.

Fortunately, Judge Frankenstein had been called away on a mysterious journey of his own. I did not ask permission again so much as…leave. Justine did not know that. Her presence gave me the freedom I needed here to move about without inviting suspicion or censure. William and Ernest, Victor’s younger brothers and her charges, would be fine in the care of the maid until we could return.

Another burst of thunder, this one rumbling through our chests so we felt it in our very hearts.

“Tell me the story of the first time you met Victor,” she squeaked, clutching my hand so hard that the bones ached.

—

The woman who was not my mother pinched me and tugged my hair with brutally efficient meanness.

I wore a dress that was far too big. The sleeves hung down to my wrists, which was not the style for children. But the dress covered the bruises that covered my skin. The week previous I had been caught stealing an extra portion of food. Though I had often been bloodied by her angry fists, this time my caregiver had beaten me until everything went black. I spent the next three nights hiding in the woods at the lake, eating berries. I thought she would kill me when she found me; she had often threatened to do just that. Instead, she had discovered another use for me.

“Do not ruin this,” she hissed. “Better for you to have died at your birth along with your mother than to be left here with me. Selfish in life, selfish in death. That’s what you come from.”

I lifted my chin high, let her finish brushing my hair so that it shone as bright as gold.

“Make them love you,” she demanded as a gentle knock sounded at the door to the hovel I shared with my caregiver and her own four children. “If they do not take you, I will drown you in the rain barrel like the cat’s last litter of runty kittens.”

A woman stood outside, surrounded by a blinding halo of sunlight.

“Here she is,” my caretaker said. “Elizabeth. The little angel herself. Born to nobility. Fate stole her mother, pride imprisoned her father, and Austria took her fortune. But nothing could touch her beauty and goodness.”

I could not turn around lest I stomp on her foot or punch her for her false love.

“Would you like to meet my son?” the new woman asked. Her voice trembled as though she was the one who was scared.

I nodded solemnly. She took my hand and led me away. I did not look back.

“My son, Victor, is only a year or two older than you are. He is a special child. Bright and inquisitive. But he does not make friends easily. Other children are…” She paused, as though searching a candy dish for just the right piece to pop into her mouth. “They are intimidated by him. He is solitary and lonely. But I think a friend like you would be just the gentling influence he needs. Could you do that, Elizabeth? Could you be Victor’s special friend?”

Our walk had brought us to their holiday villa. I stopped dead. I was amazed by the sight. Her momentum tugged me forward and I stumbled, stunned.

I had had a life, before. Before the hovel with mean and biting children. Before the woman who cared for me with fists and bruises. Before a life haunted by hunger and fear and cold, crammed into the dirty darkness with strange bodies.

I pushed one toe gingerly over the threshold of the villa the Frankensteins had taken for their time at Lake Como. I followed her through those beautiful rooms of green and gold, windows and light, pain left behind as I stepped through this dreamworld.

I had lived here before. And I lived here every night when I closed my eyes.

Though I had lost my home and my father more than two years before, and no child could remember with perfect clarity, I knew it. This had been my life. These rooms, blessed with beauty and space—so much space!—had graced my infancy. It was not this villa, specifically, so much as the general sense of it. There is a safety in cleanliness, a comfort in beauty.

Madame Frankenstein had brought me out of the darkness and back into the light.

I rubbed at my tender and bruised arms, as thin as sticks. Determination filled my child’s body. I would be whatever her son needed if doing so gave me back this life. The day was bright, the lady’s hand was softer than anything I had felt in years, and the rooms ahead of us seemed filled with hope for a new future.

Madame Frankenstein led me through the hallways and out to the garden.

Victor stood alone. His hands were clasped behind his back, and though he was not much more than two years older than me, he seemed almost like an adult. I felt the same shy wariness I would feel approaching a strange man.

“Victor,” his mother said, and again I sensed fear and nervousness in her voice. “Victor, I have brought a friend.”

He turned. How clean he was! It filled me with shame to be wearing a much-patched, too-big dress. Though my hair was washed—my caregiver said it was the best thing I had to recommend me—I knew my feet inside my slippers were dirty. I felt, as he looked at me, that he must surely know, too.

He tried on a smile like I tried on castoff clothing, shifting it around until it mostly fit his face. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” I said.

We both stood, motionless, as his mother watched.

I had to make him like me. But what did I have to offer a boy who had everything? “Do you want to find a bird’s nest with me?” I asked, the words tumbling out in a rush. I was better at finding them than any of the other children. Victor did not look like a boy who had ever climbed a tree to spy on nests. It was the only thing I could think of. “It is spring, so their chicks are all nearly ready to hatch.”

Victor frowned, his dark eyebrows drawing close together. And then he nodded, holding out his hand. I stepped forward and took it. His mother sighed with relief.

“Have fun! Do stay close to the villa, though,” she entreated us.

I led Victor out of the garden and into the spring-green forest that surrounded the estate. The lake was not far. I could smell it, cold and dark, on the breeze. I took a wandering path, keeping my eyes trained on the branches above us. It felt vital to find the promised nest. As though it were a test, and if I passed, then I could stay in Victor’s world.

And if I failed…

But there, like hope bundled into twigs and mud: a nest! I pointed to it, beaming.

Victor frowned. “It is high.”

“I can get it!”

He considered me. “You are a girl. You should not climb trees.”

I had been climbing trees since I could walk, but his pronouncement filled me with the same shame my dirty feet did. I was doing everything wrong.

“Maybe,” I said, twisting my dress in my hands, “maybe I can climb this one, and it will be the last tree I climb? For you?”

He considered my proposal, and then he smiled. “Yes, all right.”

“I will count the eggs and tell you how many there are!” I was already scrambling up the trunk, wishing my feet were bare but too aware of myself to take off my shoes.

“No, bring the nest down.”

I paused, halfway to my goal. “But if we move the nest, the mother may not be able to find it.”

“You said you would show me a nest. Did you lie?” He looked so angry at the idea that I had deceived him. Especially that first day, I would have done anything to make him smile.

“No!” I said, my breath catching in my chest. I reached the branch and scooted along it. Inside the nest were four tiny, perfect eggs of pale blue.

As carefully as I could, I worked the nest free from the branch. I would show Victor and then put it right back. It was difficult, climbing down while keeping the nest protected and intact, but I managed. I presented it to Victor triumphantly, beaming at him.

He peered inside. “When will they hatch?”

“Soon.”

He held out his hands and took the nest. Then he found a large, flat rock and set the nest on top of it.

“Robins, I think.” I stroked the smooth blue of the shells. I imagined they were pieces of the sky, and that if I could reach high enough, the sky would be smooth and warm like these eggs.

“Maybe,” I said, giggling, “the sky laid these eggs. And when they hatch, a miniature sun will burst free and fly up into the air.”

Victor looked at me. “That is absurd. You are very odd.”

I closed my mouth, trying to smile at him to let him know his words had not hurt my feelings. He smiled back, tentative, and said, “There are four eggs and only one sun. Maybe the others will be clouds.” I felt a warm rush of affection for him. He picked up the first egg, holding it to the light of the sun. “Look. You can see the bird.”

He was right. The shell was translucent, and the silhouette of a curled-up chick was visible. I let out a laugh of delight. “It is like seeing the future,” I said.

“Almost.”

If either of us could have seen the future, we would have known that the next day his mother would pay my cruel caregiver and take me away forever, presenting me to Victor as his special gift.

—

Justine sighed happily. “I love that story.”

She loved it because I told it just for her. It was not entirely the truth. But so little of what I told anyone ever was. I had ceased feeling guilty long ago. Words and stories were tools to elicit the desired reactions in others, and I was an expert craftswoman.

That particular story was almost correct. I embellished some, particularly about remembering the villa, because that was critical to lie about. And I always left off the ending. She would not understand, and I did not like to think about it.

“I can feel its heart,” Victor whispered in my memory.

I peeked out the edge of the curtain as the city of Ingolstadt swallowed us, its dark stone homes closing around us like teeth. It had taken my Victor and devoured him. I had sent Henry to lure him home, and now I had lost them both.

I was here to get Victor back. I would not leave until I had.

I had not lied to Justine about my motivation. Henry’s betrayal stung like a wound, fresh and raw. But I could survive that. What I could not survive was losing my Victor. I needed Victor. And that little girl who had done what was necessary to secure his heart would still do whatever it took to keep it.

I bared my teeth back at the city, daring it to try to stop me.

Chapter Two: What Hath Night to Do with Sleep?

DARKNESS FROM THE STORM had already claimed the sky, rendering the sunset a moot point. But it could not have been much past nightfall when we reached the lodging I had hastily written ahead to arrange. I did not know whether Victor was allowed guests in his rooms here, or what state those rooms would be in. Though we had lived in the same house until he left, assuming I could stay with him here felt too risky. The Victor who had left two years earlier was surely not the same now. I had to see him again to figure out who he needed me to be. And Justine certainly would not approve of us staying in a young, single student’s rooms.

Thus it was we found ourselves standing beneath umbrellas in the drearily persistent rain, knocking on the door of Frau Gottschalk’s House for Ladies. The carriage waited behind us, the horses stamping their impatience on the cobblestones. I wanted to stamp alongside them. I was finally here, in the same city as Victor, but I would not have time to seek him out until the morning.

I pounded until my fist stung beneath my glove. The door cracked open at last. A woman, lit in yellow lamplight that made her look more wax than human, glared at us with startling ferocity.

“What do you want?” she asked in German.

I rearranged my face into a pleasant and hopeful smile. “Good evening. My name is Elizabeth Lavenza. I wrote about taking rooms for—”

“House rules! We lock the doors at sundown. If you are not inside, you are not getting inside.”

Distant thunder echoed, and Justine trembled beside me. I twisted my full lips into a penitent shape, nodding in agreement. “Yes, of course. Only we just arrived, and had no way of knowing what the rules were. It is a sensible requirement, and I am so grateful that, traveling as two young women, we will be trusting our stay to a woman so well equipped to care for the safety and well-being of her lodgers!” I clasped my hands to my heart and beamed at her. “Indeed, I feared before we arrived that we might have made a hasty decision in seeking rooms here, but I see now you are as an angel sent before us for our protection!”

She blinked, wrinkling her nose as though she could smell my insincerity, but my face proved too adequate a shield. Her frown deepened as her beady eyes darted back and forth, examining us and the waiting carriage.

“Well, hurry and get out of the rain, then. And keep in mind this rule will never be broken again!”

“Oh, yes! Thank you so much! We are so fortunate, are we not, Justine?”

Justine’s head was ducked, her eyes fixed on the steps beneath us. She spoke mainly French, and I was not certain how much of the landlady’s German she understood. But the tone and demeanor needed no translation. Justine acted like a pup that had been struck for disobedience. I hated this woman already.

I directed the coachman to leave our trunk in the hallway. It was an awkward dance. The landlady would not allow him to have more than one of his feet inside at a time. I paid him generously for his service, hoping to retain him for the return trip—whenever that might be.

The landlady slammed the door behind him, locking two deadbolts. Finally, she drew a large iron key from her apron pocket and turned it in the knob.

“Is it a dangerous city, after dark? I had not heard that.” The town revolved around the university. Surely a center of learning could not be that threatening. When had the pursuit of knowledge merited so many locks?

She grunted. “Doubt you hear much of Ingolstadt up there in your pretty mountains. Are you sisters?”

Justine flinched. I shifted so I was physically between her and the landlady. “No. Justine works for my benefactors. But I love her as a sister.” The resemblance between us was not so strong that it was an easy assumption we were blood. I was fair-skinned, with blue eyes and golden hair I still cared for as though my life depended on it. I had finished growing sometime in the last year, petite and fine-boned. Sometimes I wondered, if I had been given more to eat as a young child, would I have been taller? Stronger? But my appearance worked in my favor. I looked fragile and sweet, incapable of harm or deceit.

Justine was taller than I by nearly a hand. Her shoulders were broad, her hands strong and capable. Her hair was a rich brown, shining with red and gold in the sunlight. Everything about her shone. She was a creature born for all days gentle and warm. But in her full lips and downturned eyes was the hint of sorrow and suffering that kept me tied to her, reminded me that she was not so strong as she looked.

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