Dusk: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (The Frankenstein Saga Book 2) Read online

  Praise

  SHADE

  “Beautiful and atmospheric.”

  —Bersaba, 5-Star Amazon Review

  “Merrie takes the reader on a Gothic horror thrill ride through Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin's eyes that ends in a heart-stopping cliffhanger. I can't wait to read the rest of the story!”

  —Jane, 5-Star Amazon Review

  “Shade hit the ground running from page 1.”

  —Kimberly, 5-Star Amazon Review

  DUSK

  “I was on the edge of my seat, and couldn't stop reading.”

  —Bersaba, 5-Star Amazon Review

  “Part 2 was just as atmospheric and chilling as Part 1 and the plot thickened.”

  —Kimberly, 5-Star Amazon Review

  “This just keeps getting better.”

  —Kaye, 5-Star Amazon Review

  “Again, Merrie Destefano keeps a relentless, page-turning pace that will leave you at the end breathless and anxious for book three.”

  —Jane, 5-Star Amazon Review

  DAWN

  “It’s full of action, horror, heartbreak, and difficult decisions. I feared for my favorite character and for Mary.”

  —Bersaba, 5-Star Amazon Review

  “Merrie Destefano brings her trilogy galloping to a satisfying end, a thrill ride through the long dark night of the soul.”

  —Jane, 5-Star Amazon Review

  “I started reading this afternoon and I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. I finished all three books in one day! I was under this series spell until the thrilling end!”

  —Kimberly, 5-Star Amazon Review

  DUSK

  A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

  Merrie Destefano

  Ruby Slippers Press

  Dusk

  In 1816, an infamous group of friends spent a holiday together in Geneva, Switzerland. Forced to stay indoors because of unprecedented foul weather, they challenged one another to write tales of the most gruesome horror. What happened next was legendary. Frankenstein and The Vampyre were born as a result.

  The names and ages of those in attendance:

  Mary Wollstonecroft Godwin…………18 years old

  Percy Shelley……………………….….23 years old

  Lord Byron…………………………….28 years old

  Claire Claremont………………………18 years old

  Doctor John Polidori…………..………21 years old

  To the rest of the world, 1816 would be known as the Year With No Summer.

  But to those few living in the Lake Geneva area, it would forever be known as the Year The Monsters Were Born.

  For my husband, Tom.

  “What terrified me will terrify others;

  and I need only describe the spectre,

  which had haunted my midnight pillow. “

  —Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin [Shelley],

  about the visions that gave birth to Frankenstein’s monster.

  Contents

  Dusk

  Quote

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Read the Next Book

  Notes From The Author

  About the Author

  Also by Merrie Destefano

  Quote

  “I trembled, and my heart failed within me;

  when, on looking up, I saw,

  by the light of the moon,

  the daemon at the casement.”

  —Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

  One

  My horse welcomed the open road, breaking into a gallop that lasted longer than I expected. We raced through rain, storm clouds rolling across the lake, lightning shooting out in fiery spikes. Overhead the sky darkened and the sun all but disappeared. I hoped I would arrive in Geneva in half an hour, despite the weather and the unending patches of mud that proved slippery with ice from time to time.

  We passed vineyards and orchards, all barren of fruit, all of them surrounded by two mountain chains—the Alps and the Jura, both craggy and snow-capped. We were enclosed in a magnificent landscape, one that should have made me breathless. Instead, it only angered and frightened me.

  My friends and I were so alone out here. So far from home. So far from anyone who cared whether we lived or died.

  I tried to stay focused on the road, but kept thinking about all the things I had been longing for on this holiday: lazy trips to local Medieval castles, days spent sailing across the lake, midnight readings of poetry written by Byron and Percy, hours spent with Percy, discussing our impending wedding.

  But our curse had followed us here.

  Without thinking, I began to grind my teeth together, accidentally biting my tongue. I didn’t realize what I was doing until my mouth began to fill with blood. I turned my head to the side and spit into the wind, drops of blood staining a nearby drift of snow.

  Was all lost? Would I find a cure for Percy?

  The clouds kept moving across the lake, changing its depths from blue to black, thunder echoing across the water and catching in mountain canyons until it sounded as if the whole world was an unending storm. Rain turned to snow and my cape was soaked, my skin nearly frozen. It felt like the only living thing left in the world besides me was the horse, its warm flesh steaming and its breath coming out in clouds of frost; it had slowed to a trot now, relentless hooves churning through mud, head straining at the reins, as if it was as eager to find an answer to all of this as I was.

  Shouldn’t there be others out and about on the road at this hour?

  All the farmhouses that dotted the hills were dark, shutters drawn. No smoke rose from hearth fires, no children played in yards, no servants carried wood or pails of water. There was a heaviness in the air that pressed down upon me, as if something was trying to chase away all hope. As darkness spread overhead, it felt as if great wings were covering the land, hastening the advent of dusk with a preternatural gloom.

  I clutched the horse’s reins in one firm hand, while I kept my other hand braced upon the rifle slung over my shoulder. Be ready, I kept telling myself, although I wasn’t sure why. Would something come at me from the fringe of trees that darkened the ridge up ahead? Or would it rise up from the near frozen depths of the lake to my right?

  The man-beast’s face was clearer in my mind now—for all the times I had sketched it—his eyes like fire, one hand stretched out as if beckoning me to join him.

  It was a handsome face, partially hidden in shadow, though moonlight had caressed full lips and exotic cheekbones, revealing skin pale as milk. Muscles could not hide beneath his flowing cape, nor could it hide his broad shoulders or the intelligence in his eyes. I had interpreted it all as the carriage of a predator, but perhaps I had been mistaken.

  I shook my head.

  No.

  That thing had definitely been a predator, hungry, insatiable, passionate.

  In many ways, it reminded me of Byron, how he eagerly preyed on the women he possessed, from his wife to his half-sister to Claire; all of these relationships had damaged his reputation until he had fled his own country. And yet, despite these things, a part of me would always be attracted to Byron.

  Was that what I was feeling toward that midnight beast? Some loaths
ome, undeniable attraction?

  I shuddered, but not from the incessant cold.

  At last, the village of Geneva began to appear in front of me—the city gates standing open, a handful of houses on the left, an inn and some shops up ahead. In my frantic haste to get here, I’d never actually formulated a plan. We needed a midwife and someone who could help with Percy’s affliction and, if possible, a servant or two, but I had no idea where to start looking. If I knew where Arjeta lived, I’d ask her, but I didn’t.

  I slowed the horse to a walk, moving past the cottages that dotted both sides of the road. Even though it was still daytime, everyone was indoors. The village looked deserted. My heart began to race when I thought that maybe no one was here, maybe they had left. But that didn’t make sense.

  “Whoa,” I said, steering the horse to a stop in front of the inn. I climbed down and then tied the reins to a hitching post, noticing how skittish the horse was. “It’s all right,” I said, running my palm over its withers, until the beast finally began to calm.

  I begin to wish that there was someone here to calm me. I half-expected the door to the inn to be locked, but the door swung open easily, revealing a dim room lit by a single oil lamp. A middle-aged woman sat at a nearby table, rifle across her lap. She startled when I walked in the door and she jumped to her feet, grabbing and then aiming the gun at me. Without thinking, I pulled my rifle from my shoulder and pointed the barrel at her, the two of us standing like that for almost a full minute.

  “We’re not taking any lodgers,” she said.

  I swallowed, searching for words. “I don’t need a place to stay,” I told her at last and I lowered my weapon, hoping that would demonstrate I meant no harm. She kept her gun aimed at my head. “I’m looking for a midwife. My stepsister’s about to have a baby, and she’s at least two months ahead of her birthing time—”

  “That’s too bad.”

  I paused. “And I need—I mean, we need someone that—” My hands shook and a fine sweat formed on my brow. “Someone in our party was bitten by a wolf and I was hoping you, or somebody in town, might know how to treat his wound—”

  “You’re crazier than you look. Nobody, including you, should go near your friend. Better you shoot him.”

  “You can’t mean that. It’s barbaric.”

  “You want to live?” the older woman asked. “Get back on your horse and ride as far as you can from Geneva. Leave your friends to fend for themselves. Your little mess might straighten itself out, while you’re gone.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She shrugged and raised her eyebrows.

  “Do you know where I can find Arjeta? A tall blonde woman—”

  “I know who she is. Lives down the street with her grandmother, in the yellow cottage.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “She’s not going to help you. No one here is. You’re staying at the Villa Diodati, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She laughed, long and low, until she started coughing, a deep rattle in her lungs that made her shake, spittle flying from her lips. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her next words coming out like a hoarse whisper. “You’d better get out of here, before you lose daylight and end up on the road with no shelter. You don’t want to be outside when they come.”

  “When who come?”

  “I don’t have time for your questions, girl. I just stopped in to gather a few of my belongings and to lock up the inn. Me and my husband are heading down to Lancy or Monthey before the sun sets. You can follow along behind us, if you want. They don’t like it when we travel in groups, so you’d probably be safe. But I can’t offer you any more than that.”

  I turned to leave, wondering if I might be able to find someone else in Geneva who’d be willing to help. Maybe I should have offered money or maybe I should have come sooner—

  “Girl, I do have one piece of advice for you,” the woman said as I opened the door and weak light flowed into the room. “Don’t let anyone else in town know you’re from the Villa Diodati. We all know what happened up there last night—how all those wolves were killed. Everyone is saying you folks are the reason the sangsue are here. They believe the Beast is after you.”

  A sick panic wormed through my gut and my skin prickled with flashes of heat. I raced up the street, not bothering to mount the horse. I led him behind me, fist wrapped around his reins, him neighing and whinnying disapproval. The whites of his eyes were showing and his mouth frothed where the bit slid between his teeth. I had a feeling he’d rather gallop after the woman from the inn, away from this village and me, toward some unknown promise of safety.

  “Steady, boy,” I murmured, wishing I had a carrot or an apple in my pocket to lure him. The yellow cottage was nearer than I expected, dark green shutters fastened tight, just like every other house we’d seen since we set off on this journey. I held onto the horse, perhaps afraid to let go of my only means of escape, while I knocked on the door. The sound echoed hollow and desolate and I worried that no one was home. I raised my fist, ready to knock again, louder this time, when the door slivered open. A pale face peered out at me, a tumble of golden hair.

  “Arjeta?” I asked.

  She frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “I, we need your help. I can pay you, whatever you ask—”

  She glanced over my shoulder. “It’s getting dark, miss. You shouldn’t be outdoors.”

  “Claire is in labor and something’s wrong—”

  The door opened farther. “The young lady who is staying with you? It is too soon for her babe to come. But surely your doctor can take care of her.”

  I shook my head. “My fiancé was bitten by a wolf this morning and I think he’s gone mad. He’s locked himself and the doctor in a room—”

  Arjeta’s blue eyes darkened as if filling with dread. She shook her head and moved her mouth to speak, but before she could, another woman stood at her side, pushing her way in front of her. It was a wizened, stooped old woman with graying hair and sunken cheeks. She was much shorter than Arjeta, but they were clearly related. They each had the same blue eyes and long braids, the same broad wide forehead.

  “The wolf had the foaming sickness?” the older woman asked, referring to hydrophobia.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t think so, but Percy began to change almost instantly—”

  “Not the foaming sickness then. The blood sickness.”

  “Gram, the leader of the sangsue was there last night,” Arjeta interrupted. “I saw him. Remember, I told you.”

  “Of course, I remember, child.” The old woman waved her hand to silence Arjeta.

  “What are the sangsue?” I asked.

  “Demons, predators, wild beasts set free from Hades before their time.” The old woman studied me. “And the pregnant woman, she is there in the villa alone, no one to protect her from the sangsue or the infected man?”

  I paused, wondering what I had done by leaving Claire in the villa. “Her door is locked. And she has a pistol.” I realized I had left my stepsister in a grave situation. With one hand, I fingered the cross that hung around my neck, and then remembered one more detail. “I also gave her a crucifix, a large one, and told her to keep it beside her.”

  The old woman smiled, revealing craggy teeth. “You’re wise, for an Anglais.”

  I returned her smile, feeling the first bit of hope since this morning, when I realized that wolf had been raised from the dead. “Will you help us, please? I can pay you whatever you want—”

  “We will come and you will pay us. But first, we must get to your villa before the roads darken. Wait outside.”

  I stayed on their doorstep, listening to the argument between the two women, grateful for the unchanging determination of the old woman. A few moments later, she appeared again, a homespun satchel at her side and Arjeta watching with tear-stained cheeks.

  “Run and get the Brodtmann’s horses,” the old woman told Arjeta. “They left fo
r France this morning and won’t be needing all their fine chevaux.” Her granddaughter did as she was told, returning a few minutes later with two beautiful mares, neither of them wearing a saddle. “Take the bigger one and head for Bernex. Stay with your cousin, Lydia. I’ll meet you in two days.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Gram.”

  “You’ll do as I say, child, or I’ll feed you to the King of the sangsue, himself.”

  Arjeta gave her grandmother a thin smile and I had a feeling she’d heard this threat many times while growing up. My parents had their own share of folktale warnings they used when they wanted me to obey. For the first ten years of my life, I’d lived in fear of goblins and trolls.

  We all mounted our horses, Arjeta helping her grandmother onto the smaller one first.

  Then we parted company.

  The young woman galloped away toward the distant village of Bernex, blonde braids flowing in the wind behind her. The older woman set a brisk pace and I followed, both of us heading back toward the villa, the heavens low above us and the storm clouds bringing an early dusk.

  Two

  The ride back to the villa seemed twice as long as the ride to Geneva. Hills slowed our travel, the road held unexpected twists, and all the while the clouds moved closer and closer to the ground until thick banks of fog clung to the hollows and bled out from every grove. I imagined shadowy figures hulking at the edge of the road and twice I flinched so strong my horse nearly reared up.