I nodded. I saw no point in insulting her.
“Since when?”
“Two nights ago. It must have clung to me as I was leaving.”
Henry stuck his head into the room. “Ah, there you are, Victor. If you want breakfast, you’d better hurry. They’re starting to clear.” He must have seen Elizabeth’s grave face, for he walked in and, more quietly, asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Victor has a spirit upon him,” Elizabeth whispered.
Henry looked at me uneasily. “Is that wise?”
I laughed. “It heals the pain in my hand! And it sharpens my mind. These books, I can understand them so easily, and so quickly, just as I did in the spirit world!”
“And how do you know it won’t also make you behave as you did in the spirit world?” Elizabeth asked.
I lifted my hands impatiently. “Can’t you see it? These things are little packets of vital energy. Just one of them has the power to grow a new body for Konrad. Life from death! Who knows if there’s any limit to what they might help us achieve.” I paused. “You and Henry could have one as well.”
Perhaps with one upon her Elizabeth’s supernatural passion for me would be rekindled in the real world.
I saw Henry chew at the inside of his lip. He was tempted. But Elizabeth shook her head.
“They’re powerful, I agree, and you’re right. We don’t know what they might be capable of. But for that reason we should be very cautious. Who’s to know what they might do in the real world?”
“Ah, I see,” I said. “You’re happy enough for them to bring your beloved Konrad back, but not help me.”
“We all agreed to bring Konrad back. We made no further pact. On this you’re acting alone, Victor.”
“So be it,” I said. “But I don’t intend to let this opportunity pass.” I looked at the books piled around me. “There’s too much to learn.”
“This is what worries me,” she said. “You’re too ambitious. And the spirit world has too strong a pull on you.”
“And you as well, it seems,” I replied. “Have you told Henry what happened there last night?”
Henry looked at her in surprise, clearly hurt. “You went in last night? Both of you?”
My stomach rumbled loudly. “Elizabeth will tell you all about it,” I said, enjoying her obvious discomfort. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to have some breakfast before it disappears.”
It had grown.
The day before, we’d left a three-year-old, and now, entering the cottage, I beheld a child of six or seven. It was asleep in the hole, the blanket tangled about its torso and legs. Its skin had lightened still further and looked like human flesh in every way. It even had the characteristic Frankenstein pallor. The only hint that this creature had been birthed from mud was the clay-colored scar in the center of its chest.
The food we’d left had been devoured, none too neatly. And scattered among the remnants was something that took me a moment to understand.
“They’re teeth,” I said, kneeling down and picking one up.
“His baby teeth,” Elizabeth said. “He lost them all in one night.”
For some reason the notion made me slightly queasy, and I let the tooth drop back to the dirt.
“Let’s leave the food and milk and be on our way,” I whispered. With luck we could just let the body sleep and grow until it was ready.
Yet Elizabeth looked at me askance, as if I were suggesting putting the creature in a reed basket and floating it out into the lake.
“Is that your idea of taking care of him?” she asked.
“What more can we do but shelter and feed it?” I replied.
I was trying to be quiet, but Elizabeth spoke in her normal voice, and it seemed to me she was hoping to wake the child up. I was glad to see that it showed no signs of rousing. I did not want to spend time with it. I would much rather have been back in the library, reading.
“Let’s be off,” I said to Henry, and touched Elizabeth on the shoulder, but it was futile. Henry made no move to leave, nor did Elizabeth-and, sure enough, the little creature stirred, sniffing, and then its eyes opened. They locked first onto Elizabeth. For a moment it only stared, as if trying to remember her. She beamed down at it.
“Hello, little one,” she said.
It sniffed again and looked down at the doll she’d given it yesterday. Its eyes widened, and it grabbed the doll, sniffed it, pushed it against its mouth as if tasting it, and then pulled it away, peering at its miniature human features. Surely such a thing made no sense to the child, and I wasn’t sure if it looked puzzled or if I was simply superimposing a feeling onto its blank face.
“It’s just a doll, a toy,” Elizabeth said gently.
The child looked up, and when it crawled toward her, it tucked the doll under one arm. Elizabeth settled the child on her lap, wrapping her arms around it.
I wondered if she was trying to comfort herself, clinging hold to this facsimile of Konrad’s young body, when she felt she might be losing Konrad’s love.
“He should have some fresh air,” she said.
“That’s a fine idea,” Henry seconded.
I shook my head. “Are you two mad? What if we’re seen?”
“Out here? No one comes this way,” she said.
“It’s almost in sight of the chateau,” I told her. “Justine might be taking Ernest or William for a walk-”
“He’s seen nothing but the inside of a dark cottage,” Elizabeth cut in. “He needs the sun, and sky.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said.
“I can’t see how it could hurt,” said Henry. “Just for a few minutes.”
I glared at Henry. I knew he was agreeing with everything Elizabeth said regardless of what he thought. Did he think he would impress her by being a little lap dog?
I looked at the child and offered my last defense. “It’s naked,” I said.
“I brought some old clothes of Ernest’s,” Elizabeth replied cheerfully, and went to the hamper to pull them out. The child sat obediently while she pulled them on. It was quite a transformation. Clothed, it looked so much more like Konrad-and me-that I was startled, and a bit ashamed of myself. I knew full well this creature was not properly human yet, but to all appearances it was a fine seven-year-old boy, locked away in a windowless cottage like a prisoner. And yet I could still not think of it as him.
“What a handsome little fellow you are,” Elizabeth said. “And heavy.” She grunted as she hefted it onto her hip.
I made them wait inside while I opened the door and took a good look about the cottage. I saw no one in any direction.
“Just a short outing,” I said.
In the sun we spread out the picnic blanket. Still possessively gripping its doll, the child pressed it to its nose and inhaled. Then it turned its head to look in the precise direction of the chateau.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“What?” said Henry, taking some food from the hamper.
“It sniffed the doll and then looked toward the chateau. It’s like it could smell our home.”
“He probably just heard a noise,” Elizabeth said, and passed the child some ham, which it ate with great enthusiasm.
“He’s surely strong enough to walk,” Henry remarked. Henry, I noticed, had no trouble referring to the child as a he, instead of an it.
He took the child’s hands and pulled gently. Swiftly the child pulled itself up into standing. Henry stood and, stooped over, encouraged it to take a step. I was reminded of a puppeteer cajoling a marionette. For a moment the child did nothing, but then it lifted its left foot, planted it, and then, swaying, did the same with its right.
“Hah!” said Henry. “His first step!”
“Well done, Henry!” said Elizabeth.
“Hurray,” I muttered distractedly, keeping a keen lookout, trying to think up some explanation in case we were surprised by someone.
The child took more of its grotesque steps, but ever more quickly and confidently. As Henry guided it over to
