"I'm sorry, but you have to do this," I whispered to the spirit. "Lie on top of your body to re-enter it. I command you," I said, louder for Frankenstein's benefit.

The eyes of the spirit widened and then the faint ghost settled on top of his body. "Oi! Blimey, what's happening? Stop it! Stop it! Let me go, witch!" The dead body rose from the table. Unlike Seth and Gus, he hadn't been restrained. There hadn't been a need to.

His swollen eyes turned on Frankenstein. His bloodied lips parted, revealing broken teeth. He seemed to be speaking, but only a whistling, thin breath came out.

"That's the wrong one!" Frankenstein shouted at me. "He was supposed to go into one of mine! You tricked me!"

The body sat up unsteadily, then slowly swiveled its legs around until they dangled off the table. It moved no further.

"Blast it!" Frankenstein's eyes gleamed as he pressed down again on the blade. A thin line of blood striped Seth's throat.

"No!" I shouted. "Stop, or I will direct him to kill you."

"Kill your own father?" Frankenstein laughed. "No, you won't. You love me, just as I love you, dearest daughter. You're precious to me, remember? My own perfect necromancer child. We'll live together in my—"

The knife struck him in the right eye. He made no sound as blood streamed down his cheek and he crumpled to the floor. Fitzroy strode around the head of the table, leaned down and removed his knife from Frankenstein's eye.

I stumbled all the way back to the door, my hands on my stomach. I stared unblinking at the man who claimed to love me. The man who said I was perfect as I was.

"You killed him," I whispered. "You killed my father."

Fitzroy stood over the body, his arms rigid at his sides, a bloody dagger in each hand. His loose hair fell to his eyes in ragged tangles. He was covered in blood, some of it probably his, and looked very much like an avenging devil. Or angel. I wasn't yet certain which. He peered at me through his hair but said nothing. It didn't really matter. There wasn't anything to say, and I wasn't sure what I even wanted him to say.

All I knew was that I'd had a father and he was gone. Nothing had really changed from the last few days—the last five years.

Except everything had.

"You witch." The reanimated corpse glared at me. His voice had strengthened and his movements were steadier as he stood on the floor. "You are vile," he spat at me. "As vile as that man there. Look at what you've done to me. Look!"

All I could see was the smashed face, the broken teeth and bones, and a man walking toward me. This wasn't a good man, as the one who'd saved me in the holding cell had been. This was a man I'd never met in life but who'd undoubtedly lived on the streets. In my experience, few good men lived on the streets.