The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

This time I waited to be certain we would not be killed by a passing horse, but only for Justine’s sake. Then I dragged her across the cobblestones as quickly as I could. Anxiety choked me as I pushed through the heavy door of the shop.

A bell chimed in muted resignation, signaling our entrance to the cramped stacks and dangerously leaning shelves. Where the library had been stately and impressive, this room was overwhelming and claustrophobic. How one could begin to find a sought-after treasure in here was beyond me.

“Just a moment,” a surprisingly high and feminine voice called from an unseen location. The room could have gone on for leagues, as far as I could tell—any view of the expanse was blocked by the shelves. It was a labyrinth of knowledge, and I had no strings to mark my way. I would have to wait for this Minotaur to come to me instead.

Justine stood near the doorway, hands clasped primly in front of her. She gave me a tight, hopeful smile. I was too jumbled with nerves to return it. I was about to shout for the bookseller to please come and help us, when a woman not much older than we were appeared from behind a shelf. Her apron was covered in dust, and a charcoal pencil had been shoved into her pinned-up hair.

She was pretty in a way that seemed imminently practical. Her beauty was not a performance or a necessity; it was simply part of her. Her hair and skin were both darker than most in this region. There was something sharp and intelligent about her eyes that promised a lively mind, and I immediately wanted to know her. And I wanted to know, too, how a young woman had come to be working in a bookshop.

“Oh! You are not who I was expecting.” She smiled, puzzled.

“Who were you expecting?” I felt my heart racing, wondering if Victor was due at any moment!

“The usual dour-faced and double-chinned professor to yell at me about our prices and inform me I am robbing him, robbing him, he says, and he will not have it! And then he pulls out his money anyhow, because he cannot get what he needs elsewhere.” She clapped her hands together, rubbing them free of the dust I suspected never stopped clinging to her. “But you two are like flowers delivered by a sweetheart! I was about to close up for lunch. What books do you need?”

“No books. We are actually searching for my cousin.”

“I am afraid I sold the last cousin yesterday and have no cousins stocked on my shelves. I can order one for you, but it will take weeks to arrive.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement, but then she saw my desperation and her expression turned gentle. “This sounds like a complicated story. Will you join me for lunch and we can discuss it there? I get so little time with other women!”

I opened my mouth to decline, but Justine spoke first, relief bubbling from her. “Oh, yes! That would be lovely. We have had such troubles since we got here last night.”

“I can tell from your accent that German is not your first language.” The bookseller shifted to French with ease. “Is this better?”

Justine nodded, beaming with gratitude. I had no preference, but it was kind of her to take Justine’s comfort into account.

“I am sorry for your reception. That is Ingolstadt. Not known for its warm welcomes during this season. In fact, it is preparing to again demonstrate how much it wishes we were not here.” She pointed at the window, where the first warning drops of rain traced dirty lines down the glass. “We have to go outside and around the corner. Hurry!”

She pushed out the door and we followed her, huddling beneath our single umbrella. She walked ahead of us, unconcerned about the rain. I envied her dark skirts. Mine would show every trace of mud and filth the city had to offer. But I had to wear white, knowing I would see Victor. Hoping I would see Victor.

“Here we are!” She stopped in front of a plain door around the corner. Pulling out a key, she unlocked it.

“I thought we were going to a café?” I asked.

“They are all wretched and overpriced. I can feed you better.” She turned and grinned at us, her teeth crooked like the shelves in her bookstore, crowding together in a pleasant sort of way. “I am Mary Delgado.” She looked at Justine first.

“Justine Moritz. And this is Elizabeth Lavenza.”

“Pleased to meet you both. Now, come out of the rain.” We followed her into a cramped landing area, cluttered with so many books it might as well have been a shop, too. Books were piled on a table, pushed in stacks against the walls, and taking up nearly every step on the stairs ascending to the second story. A narrow path led straight up between the looming tomes.

“Mind the books,” she said, climbing the stairs with practiced ease.

I leaned down to see some of the spines. There was no organization I could see. Poems beneath political tomes beneath religious texts beneath mathematical theory. I let my fingers linger on a book of philosophy, then drew them away. My white lace fingertips were still perfectly clean. These books were all regularly used, with no collected dust.

I did mind the books. I minded them very much, and I wanted to know more about all of them. Instead, we followed Mary up the stairs and into a cozy sitting room. This one, surprisingly, contained not a single book. A worn but clean sofa was paired with an overstuffed leather chair, both kept company by a cheerful fire.

“Sit,” Mary called from another room, into which she had already disappeared. “Please, sit.”

We did as instructed. Justine sighed happily, pulling off her gloves and unpinning her hat. I perched on the edge of the couch.

“You look like you are ready to flee,” Justine observed.

I removed my gloves, too, but left my hat in place. I wanted to pace the room like a caged animal. Instead, I stared into the fire, willing the hypnotic flicker of flame to calm my mind.

Mary set down a tray of sliced bread, cold roast chicken, and a wedge of light, nutty cheese. “It is not much, but better than the overpriced swill they cheat the students with!” Before I could open my mouth to ask her about Victor, she disappeared again, reappearing with a tea service. When she had set that down, too, and seated herself, it was finally acceptably polite for me to begin speaking.

“Now, what type of cousin are you in the market for?” Mary’s eyes sparkled. Adoration and annoyance warred within me. In ot

her circumstances, I would want to be her friend. But right now, she was all that stood between my future and my perilous present.