Page 63 of The Last Necromancer
Fitzroy caught it before it hit me. "You had some trouble overnight," he said. "What happened?"
"Wh…what?" Father shuffled backward toward the stairs. His shaking hand reached out for the newel post.
"We won't hurt you," I told him. "We've come to ask you about the man who came looking for me a few days ago. A doctor. But first…are you all right?" I moved toward him, but he tripped over the bottom step in his haste to get away and landed on his rear.
I clasped my hands tightly in front of me, stopping myself from reaching out to help him. This man didn't want me to touch him. It was clear from the twist of his mouth and the fear in his eyes.
"Father—"
"Do not call me that," he snarled. "You are not my daughter. You don't belong here. You belong in hell! Get out!" He began a prayer as he scooted up the stairs on his behind.
I bit back tears, refusing to let this man see how much his hatred affected me. I thought I'd given up hope of a happy reunion years ago, but it seemed a flame had flickered in my breast the entire time. I'd promised myself I would never feel anything for him again, and yet here I was, about to shed tears for the pathetic man I wanted to love me.
"I am your daughter," I whispered, struggling to get the words out through my aching throat.
He laughed, a manic, high sound that grated on my ears. "You're not. You're adopted."
I fell back and reached out for something solid to hold on to; to stop myself losing my balance in the suddenly tilting world. Fitzroy's arm was there. His hand on my elbow steadied me.
"You…are not my father?"
The old man on the stairs stopped laughing and squared his shoulders. "No. How did you not see it? Your mother was pure of heart. I am the lord's faithful servant. And you are a creature of darkness and death. The lord sent you to us, to test me. I didn't fail. I cast you out, as the devil should be cast out. I removed the ugly cancer from my house and—"
Fitzroy's fist stopped the vomit of insults. My father's head—no, Holloway's—snapped back. He cried out and clasped a hand over his mouth. Blood seeped through the fingers. He scrambled further up the staircase, away from us.
Fitzroy followed him, his hands closed into fists at his sides, his shoulders rigid.
"Don't!" I shouted.
Holloway had reached the top of the stairs. Fitzroy stopped, towering above him. "The man who was here calling himself Doctor. Was it he who came last night?"
Holloway closed his eyes and began praying again. "Answer him," I said. "Or he'll kill you."
Fitzroy glanced at me over his shoulder. I shrugged.
"You won't be harmed if you tell me his name," Fitzroy said. He kicked Holloway's foot.
Holloway pulled his knees up and clasped them to his chest. He opened his eyes. "Yes, it was the same man. He wanted to know where you were." He nodded at me. "I told him you'd gone to Hell."
"You probably won't be surprised to know that Hell looks very much like the slums of London." I felt numb, like I was looking down on the scene from afar. But more than that, I felt like I was speaking to a stranger, not the man I'd called Father for as long as I could remember.
"His name," Fitzroy prompted.
Holloway eyed the fists at Fitzroy's sides and swallowed. "He's a doctor. Frank something. I can't recall."
"His initials are V.F. Is it Doctor Frank?"
"I told you, I can't recall. It was an unusual name, foreign."
Fitzroy leaned over and grabbed the front of Holloway's smoking jacket. He lifted him until he was no longer sitting. "Think."
His eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Frank…Frank-in…star."
"Doctor Frankinstar?"
"Frankenstein! That's it. Doctor Frankenstein. First name Victor."
CHAPTER 11
