Page 99 of Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match
Arlo looked away. He had every memory now: the cries of the men who died defending him, the helpless slide of the carriage into the ravine, and the jarring pain in his knee as he kicked like a mule at the pinned door and screamed for God to save him. Then, wrenching off his sweaty robes, growing cold, and huddling under them. Throat dry, eyes stinging with salt.
He had been alone for most of his life in every way that counted, and as the days and nights wore on, he had accepted that he would die alone.
But as it turned out, he hadn’t.
Broths and cold compresses still could not save him. This old man had been with him, holding his hand, reciting his last rites as he felt his entire essence drawing out, into the fireplace, dissolving into smoke, out the chimney, and into the night sky. Wouldn’t the world be astonished to know that after death, one’s spirit was caught in a star?
“You remember, don’t you?” Father Porter whispered. “Don’t lie to me, my child.”
Arlo would have liked to take a step back, but it would have put him into the grave. “Let it be,” he begged the old man in a whisper. “I am happy for the first time in my life. Whoever I am, let me walk away from here tonight, and let me go home.”
“Home?” Father Porter inquired. “You will take up residence here, allowing me to finish my service before I collapse from exhaustion. I know you were dead,” he said in a barely audible hiss. “I know who found your body afterward, and what he is rumored to do in the name of some unholy science. You are the work of the devil,” he impressed upon him, with his eyes black and intense. “And the only way to convince me otherwise is to take your place at the pulpit of this church and resume your godly life.”
Arlo shook his head. “I have sinned most terribly in my new life.”
“You are forgiven.”
Arlo’s heart beat off-kilter with this next declaration. “I am possibly a father of a different sort, and I will never stop loving her. I will love her forever, beyond death.”
Father Porter looked down at Christopher. “Sacrifices are required, and you have a willing replacement. Reapply yourself, young man.”
Arlo’s pulse was uncomfortable. “Let another take the role.”
“There is no one else available. If I pass into the Lord’s care before a replacement is installed, this village will leave civilization behind. They will not care that the Frankenstein family is the wealthiest of patrons. With no fear of God, and the rumors unchecked, the villagers will march on their wicked hill.”
Arlo’s stomach sank at the choice presented. “And this is what you require of me, in order to leave them be?” The Frankenstein siblings were arguing good-naturedly now. “Life would go on for them, just as it always has?”
“It would keep Victor Frankenstein from the gallows, and I would tell the archdiocese that Father Northcott is the product of the holiest of miracles, witnessed by the highest officials in this parish. It would reinvigorate the entire village, bringing positivity and renewed faith.”
“And Angelika?”
The old man’s stare cut to her, and it was so vicious that Arlo turned to block her with his body. “Witches have not burned in this forest for over two hundred years. But traditions are often revisited.”
“Under no circumstances will you ever harm her,” Arlo intoned darkly.
“Good boy.”
They were interrupted by the sound of metal on wood. “It was me,” Victor and Christopher shouted in unison, then began to squabble like schoolboys as they scraped at the coffin lid.
Nothing else that happened from there was a surprise.
They dug some more, fetched ropes, realized they were unneeded, and Victor and Christopher passed the coffin up with one-handed effort. A crowbar was procured. Everyone pinched their nose, the lid was opened, and nothing but a plushly upholstered interior was revealed.
“It looks rather comfortable,” Father Arlo Northcott told everyone as they stared at him. “But as you can now see, it was not my time.”
The smile was fading off Victor’s face. “What the hell, Will?”
“I echo that sentiment,” Christopher said. “Did you know about this?” This gobsmacked question was for Angelika. “If you knew about this, I think you very wicked.”
Her pretty mouth dropped open in hurt.
No matter that she loved Arlo, she craved Christopher’s approval all the same. It was a dangerous loose thread; one that the accomplished hunter would find, and pull on, until her faithful heart slowly unraveled. Weeks, years, the commander would never stop, because why would he settle for a sturdy widow and her son, when he could have this magical creature, this heiress, this trophy?
Would Father Northcott see a carriage pass by one day after his Sunday sermon, and see a married woman’s silhouette, and die completely?
“Miss Frankenstein is a good and honorable Christian woman, is she not?” Father Porter slanted his eyes toward Arlo.
The magistrate found his voice. He was emotional, his eyes glassy with tears, apparently having a religious epiphany. “Father Northcott, I don’t know how this has happened, but I believe now. Miracles do happen. Praise the Lord.”
