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But Victor only sighed. He released my shoulders, then walked to the door, closed it, and locked it. His actions were so much the opposite of what I had expected that I simply stood watching. If he had attacked, I would have fought back. Instead, he leaned against the door. He looked so cross, I had to tamp down my instinct to divert his attentions and make him smile instead.

“This is not how I wanted tonight to go. I need more time. I am not ready for you yet. I will not risk any accidents or failures when it is your turn. I would have been so close, but, thanks to your help when you burned my first laboratory, I lost my journal and all my notes. And then I lost any progress I had made on the body in the Orkneys.”

I trembled with rage. I was ready to attack him now. “Her name was Justine.”

He let out a noise of impatience. “You still do not understand. I knew you would not. You were never strong enough mentally or emotionally for this task. You will just have to be patient. After you are changed, perfected by me, I know you will finally be grateful.”

I laughed, a harsh sound, like the carrion bird I had found that day in his laboratory, pecking at his trunk filled with terrible violence and worse intent. “We are finished. I will never stay with you. I will fight you. I will stop you. You are truly insane if you think for one second I will ever show you any kindness or gratitude again.”

He took a deep breath. When he looked down at the carpet, I lunged. I threw myself at him with all the rage and pain I possessed. I clawed at his face, aiming for his eyes. He caught my hands and twisted them, throwing me to the floor. He put his knee into the small of my back before I could rise. I tried to hit him, but he pinned one arm behind me, the other trapped beneath me. I struggled, screaming. But as slight as Victor was, I was no match for him.

I fought with fury; he, with the cold determination of a murderer. Only one of us was aware of how far they could go. I pressed my face into the rug, squeezing my eyes shut. I could not win this fight. I would have to figure something else out. I would have to be smart. Maybe I could—

“We have always been a team,” Victor said, increasing the pressure of his knee as he shifted, doing something I could not see. “Once again, you have provided the solution I needed. You went to such lengths to hide my work, knowing that anyone who saw it would think me a lunatic. Would immediately imprison me for my own safety.” He laughed. Then he cleared his throat, and his tone of voice changed. “

My poor beloved wife. On our wedding night, too overwhelmed by the death of little William at the hands of the woman she chose to care for him, Elizabeth’s mind broke. You will see, sympathetic doctors, this journal in her own hand. Look at her writings about journeys she never took. No one in England, Inverness, or anywhere will recall a young woman named Elizabeth. She imagined the whole thing! And the monsters—creatures of darkness and death—that she sees in the world around her! Oh, how it breaks my heart! But I know she will be safe in this asylum. She will be safe, and secure, and patiently locked away to anticipate the day I am ready to retrieve her.” He set something down on the floor by my side, then gently stroked my hair. “Do you think I should talk more about what you have been through? Perhaps lingering on your guilt over trusting Justine when she was clearly plotting to murder William? If only Henry were here to write it for me like one of his pathetic plays…Well. I will practice.”

I wanted to twist my head, to bite his hand where it still stroked my hair. But that would look like evidence in his favor. I would need my wits about me in order to argue my way free from this when he brought in the constables. I could try to run as soon as he released me, but I feared that would support his case more than mine. And where would I run to?

No. I would be calm. Dispassionate. I would explain his history and temper, try to provoke him again into a rage. I would be—

A sharp jab stung my neck, followed by a rushing, burning sensation. It flooded the veins there and traveled through my body.

“Sleep.” Victor’s lips brushed my ear as he stroked my hair. “Sleep, and know that I will take care of everything.”

WHEN I AWOKE, I was bound to a bed.

A nurse leaned over me, lifting my gown to place a chamber pot beneath me.

I gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Just do your business,” she said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Madame, please!” I struggled to move, to no avail.

She leaned over into my line of sight. She was thick with age, and broad shouldered. Her eyes were neither kind nor unkind. They were tired. “If you do not piss right now, I will leave the pot under you. It will bruise your fair skin, and you will cry. I will not care. And if you struggle, you will spill your own shit and piss all over your bed, and I will forget to change your sheets. Do you understand?”

Her tone was without anger or malice. And I did not know how to reply—what could I say to convince her? How could I best manipulate her into releasing me?

“Yes, of course,” I said meekly. “But could I sit up, please?”

“Two days bound to the bed to make certain you will not injure yourself. Do as you are told, and then we will talk about letting you piss sitting up.”

Horrified, humiliated, I found I could not release so much as a drop.

She left the chamber pot beneath me.

It bruised, as promised, though my soul and dignity suffered far worse damage than my skin.

* * *

—

Three days I lay bound to that bed. Sometimes I heard weeping. But that was almost a comfort, because the rest of the time I heard nothing. I could only turn my head side to side and see blank, whitewashed walls. I was alone, save the brief visits of a nurse.

The second night, the longest night, I repented of my wish to hear things. A woman nearby screamed, and screamed, until my throat felt raw and aching on her behalf. How she continued I did not know.

How could any of us continue like this?