Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(36)

Angelika’s heart was beating uncomfortably. It looked very much like her beloved was a nighttime thief. “What is he doing? Why isn’t he turning around?”

“He’s sleepwalking. Is this common for him? Does he talk in his sleep?”

Angelika gave her brother a withering look. “I haven’t had the good fortune to find out. Does Lizzie?”

Victor rolled his shoulders in a stretch. “Lizzie is rendered utterly speechless for the rest of her life. Look, he’s really turning the room upside down.”

“I’ll get him—” Angelika started over, but her brother blocked her.

“If you stop him, you won’t find out what he’s doing. Use your head, Jelly. This is his subconscious mind at work. His true self.”

Angelika leaned on the doorframe. “Mary has complained about messes in various rooms, but I thought she was exaggerating.”

“Then an apology is owed.” Victor’s tone was dry. “Will asked me the other day when she will finish working for us. I honestly never thought about it. She is well beyond working age.”

Angelika winced. “We are lucky to never consider how we will live, or survive, or afford anything. We will never have to work until we are Mary’s age.”

Victor was open-mouthed. “I have never heard you speak like that. Usually, you are just at me for more, with your hand outstretched.”

“It’s Will. He’s opening my eyes, and he makes me want to be . . . better. I want him to be proud of me. And I want to be able to wake in the middle of the night and know I am as good as I can be.” She tensed, expecting teasing.

Victor just nodded.

“I am the same with Lizzie. And when I find my own creation, and bring him safely home, I think I will have a chance at being my best self. I care less about Schneider now. That poor wretch, lost out there.” He paused, wincing, trying to choose his words. “I am very proud of you, for starting to think this way, and I shall do the same. I think we lost our parents before we could learn the importance of economy.”

“And charity. And community. Will’s always thinking about others. What is he looking for in here now, I wonder? He knows I’ll give him anything he wants.”

Victor lifted the candelabra higher. “We cannot wake him suddenly. The shock could be too much for him.” They watched Will pawing in a pile of papers.

Angelika said, “I have heard of a technique called mesmerism, in which we could attempt to speak to his sleeping mind. I would want his consent first, and it requires further research before we attempt it.”

Victor did not have his sister’s ethics. “Let us see if we can gain a clue. Will. I say, Will.” There was no reply. “It is not his true name, so he does not reply. I say, my friend, what are you searching for in there?”

The siblings winced as Will roughly pulled out drawers from their father’s desk. It took a lot of effort not to intervene.

“Do you need money?” Victor asked him.

“No,” Will replied in a lifeless tone. Angelika let out a squeak and hid behind her brother. He looked as though he had risen from the morgue on his own accord.

Victor began guessing. “A map. Parchment to write on. A keepsake from your past. A musical instrument. A favorite book.” Will looked up. Victor seized on his last suggestion. “You want a book. Tell me the author. We will have it, or I can get it.”

Will turned to the bookshelf, then began touching the spines of books in almost total darkness. They tried for several more minutes to engage with him. Every question that Victor asked was met with an irritated headshake, indifference, or that same flat no. They could not ascertain his name, his age, his place of birth, or his favorite fruit.

“Maybe he is searching for his estate’s ledger,” Angelika suggested. “Or a certificate of ownership.”

The candle was burning lower, and Victor hissed when the wax began dripping on his hand. Enough was enough.

“You can’t find what you’re looking for because it’s too dark,” Angelika told Will as she stepped into the room. This got his head turning back toward them, his search forgotten. Her insides thrilled at how he responded to her presence, drawn closer like a moth to a flame, his dark eyes on her.

Softly she asked, “My love, are you quite all right?”

Will replied, “I’m all right.”

Victor nudged her. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to hear his secret thoughts about you. I’ll ask him. Do you know my sister, Angelika?”

“I know her,” Will replied.

“We’ve found his favorite topic,” Victor said, and continued: “And what do you make of her? Do you think she is beautiful?”

Will nodded, a serious crease on his brow.

“Is she smart, and funny, and talented?”

“She is all of those things,” Will said.

(Angelika huffed modestly, and also hoped this line of questioning would never end.)

Victor grinned wickedly at his sister. “And would you like to make her your wife?”

“I cannot,” Will said.

“Why not?” Angelika asked, hurt. The certainty of her feelings could no longer be sidestepped, and she could confess it safely, knowing he might not remember in the morning. “I love you, Will. I’d marry you if you asked me.” When he said nothing, she pressed: “Do you already have a wife?”