Stella awoke to the sound of a fist pounding against the door of her house. In her line of work, nighttime callers were commonplace; but tonight, Stella felt the grip of fear. Despite her bravado, she did not doubt Canmore's threats. A man who had murdered so many in cold blood would have no objection to disposing of one pushy "spinster".
The word hurt her, though with the stakes being what they were, she knew should be above a wounded pride. Bella's life was on the line, as well as her own.
Stella learned years ago that she would probably never marry. Her family's vineyard suffered a succession of bad years and though they never went without, marriages were expensive. Stella was the fourth of five daughters and by the time her elder three sisters had been married off, there was little in the larder for her own dowry.
Stella accepted the news stoically. Her interests lay more in books than in men, so it was not such a terrible blow to learn that it would be the convent for her. The convent had a library, and work for a young woman who could speak fluent Latin, Greek, and French.
At the age of fifteen, Stella was welcomed into the convent as a novice. The nuns gave her a job translating old texts, and the opportunity to expand her knowledge of languages. By sixteen, she could fluently speak five and was working to master an additional three. Her knack for tongues did not go unnoticed, and the abbess, Mother Verna, saw to it that she received texts that were more archaic, more challenging. These texts, Stella noticed, were also more occult. There were tombs of Demonology, mysticism; and not just Catholic texts but Islamic, Buddhist, and Pagan lore. The abbess evaded her questions at first, but eventually revealed the existence of the Holy Order. At seventeen, they sent Stella to Rome to work in processing. Her parents were told that she worked as an aid to Mother Verna's brother, the Cardinal Jinnette.
… … …
The pounding on the door grew louder as she descended the stairs. If it were Canmore, she told her self, and his intentions were violent, he would not bother knocking.
She opened the door and gasped. A flash of lightning illuminated Van Helsing's silhouette, but he was not alone. A hideous creature leaned against him, covered in gashes, bleeding heavily.
"Stella—"
"San Maria," she gasped.
"He needs medical attention, and a place to rest." Van Helsing pushed past her. He half dragged the giant down the hall and with a grunt, and knocked away the candlestick, opening the passageway. The wall swung aside.
"What do you think you are doing?" Stella demanded. He ignored her and lay Frankenstein down on the cot. The frame groaned under his weight.
"Do you have any medical supplies, bandages, anything?"
"If you think for one moment that I'm going to take part in this without so much as an explanation…" she was cut short by the cocking of a gun. Van Helsing aimed his pistol at her.
"Please, Stella," he said apologetically, "He may not have much time."
"Gabriel—"
"Carl said you studied medicine at the convent. Can you help him?" Stella glared at him, betrayed. "Well?"
"I'll do what I can." Stella assumed a mask of cold efficiency, suspecting that Van Helsing would have no patience for panic. "You'll have to let me go upstairs first. I need supplies."
Van Helsing nodded and lowered his gun an inch. Sweat gathered at Stella's brow and she wondered how many men had been killed by that gun.
Van Helsing followed her upstairs into the kitchen, keeping a cautious eye on her as she searched for supplies.
"Stella,"
She turned slowly, afraid to make any sudden moves.
"Thank you. For his sake, thank you."
Stella glared at him, her gaze both searching and accusatory.
"And for your sake, Gabriel? I thought you trusted me."
"Old habits die hard, I suppose." He holstered the gun. Stella snorted in disbelief, and shoved a box of gauze into his arms. She grabbed a box from the top shelf and slammed it down on the counter. She removed an envelope of needles and held each one to the light, inspecting it.
"Could you hurry this along?"
"Certainly, if you want me to sew the monster up with a dull needle."
"He's not a monster, Stella…and for God sake, he may be bleeding to death while to fiddle with your sewing kit." He seized the envelope and threw it in the box of gauze. Stella flinched and started backwards. Van Helsing regretted his impatience. "Look, I'll help you. What else do you need?"
"There's brandy in the cupboard. I can use it to clean the wounds."
He rifled through the top shelf and found the alcohol in the far back. He had to blow the dust off to read the label. When he turned back, he noted that Stella had a bowl of warm water in her arms and the box of supplies was considerably fuller.
They returned to the secret room and Stella poured some of the alcohol into the bowl, diluting it. Choosing a piece of cloth, she soaked it then wrung it out thoroughly. Her hand hovered indecisively over Frankenstein's bare back. The thought of touching something made from the bodies of the dead revolted her. But a warning glance from Van Helsing strengthened her resolve and she pressed the rag against the wounds.
Frankenstein winced and she jerked her hand back. Biting her lip, she brought the cloth to his raw flesh again, this time more gently.
"What happened to him?" she asked, pushing back her anger in favor of the task at hand.
"He was captured, about ten miles outside of the city."
"Was it the Order?"
"No, but they condoned it. Canmore was supposed to finish him off tonight."
Stella shuddered.
"Carl told me he's been harassing you. I'm sorry."
"Canmore is nothing I cannot handle." She shrugged him off.
"It makes sense that they would send Canmore do it," he realized, "The man has no compunctions against killing the innocent. Any trained agent would be able to sense that Frankenstein isn't evil. The Council of Faiths would need to be sure that this wouldn't stop their assassin from doing the job."
Stella stared at him, eyebrows raised, questioning his sanity.
"He saved my life in Transylvania. He's a good man, Stella."
"Roll him over," she ignored him, "I need to see the wounds on his front."
Frankenstein groaned pitifully, though Van Helsing moved him as carefully as possible. For a moment, Stella might have felt sympathy for the creature. But then she saw his face.
"Christ preserve us!" she gasped. His face was swollen with bruises, the flesh covered with scars and grotesque stitching. The skin of his torso was stretched across thick, inhuman muscles. Puckered scars marked the places where he had been cut open, or where parts of him had been sewn on. Metal staples bound him together in some places, and where his heart should have been, a glass orb was secured with rivets. Stella wondered for a moment if the creature had been in pain even before his capture. The metal braces in his right arm and leg seemed to be screwed into his very flesh. She could not imagine how such a malformed and misshapen thing could even live.
Hearing her voice, Frankenstein forced his swollen eyes open and saw Stella for the first time. Realizing that she had come under his gaze, she backed away, too frightened to hide her revolution.
Van Helsing grabbed her shoulder and she jumped, pulling away. He took her arm, gentler this time and she allowed him, staring at Frankenstein, transfixed.
The creature opened his mouth as if to speak, but choked over his words. He looked searchingly at Van Helsing and then at Stella.
"There is work to be done," the monster hunter said evenly. He eased her back towards the bed.
Van Helsing reminded her that time was of the essence and she resumed her work. He supported the creature as she wrapped bandages around his chest, arms, and legs. Not an inch of his hide seemed unscathed, and she feared she might run out of thread before the gashes could all be closed.
All that was left were the bullet wounds.
"I'll have to remove the led," she told Van Helsing, "But I don't have the tools."
The monster hunter removed a thin blade and a pair of pliers from within his coat and handed it to her. "These will have to do."
"I have only seen this done," Stella warned, but Van Helsing was already sterilizing the makeshift surgical equipment. At this point, he doubted that anything could do Frankenstein more harm.
Stella probed the wound with the pliers and the Frankenstein roared with pain. He tried to move but Van Helsing forced him back down. "Stella has to remove those bullets. It's going to hurt."
"Lets you know you're alive." Frankenstein said weakly.
"Y—you'll have to hold him steady," she told Van Helsing. It would keep the creature from moving during the procedure—and keep them both from turning on her.
Van Helsing positioned himself at the creature's shoulders and held tight.
"I'll have to widen the hole a bit." She took the scalpel in her hand. "I couldn't reach the bullet before."
"Do it," Frankenstein whispered, "Do it quickly."
Carefully, she sliced into the wound, bracing herself for another inhuman roar; but the creature did not make a sound. She cut across the first incision and then, using the scalpel to hold aside his flesh, she reached in with the pliers. The needle nose closed around the bullet, and she drew it out. The other bullet was not as deep and she removed it quickly.
"I'm going to stitch it up now."
"The worst is over," Van Helsing patted the giant's good shoulder. Frankenstein sighed audibly, breathing for the first time since Stella cut into him.
She drew thread through the eye of a needle and rubbed both down with a cloth soaked in alcohol. Frankenstein winced as she slid it into the raw flesh around the wound. She pinched the skin together at the incisions and pushed the needle through the other side.
"Merciful God!" Frankenstein gasped. His back arched and Stella pulled away. "How many more?" he asked between ragged breaths.
"Five on the first, fewer on the second," Stella responded automatically, then bit her lip. She could not afford distraction. Allowing the creature a moment to recover, she resumed. She had sewn up wounds before; this was no different. In less than a minute, she was done. She staunched the fresh blood that flowed from the incisions and covered it with gauze.
"He'll need a place to stay," Van Helsing said, when the two had left Frankenstein to rest, "At least until he regains his strength."
"He cannot stay here!" she protested.
"Where else can he go? It would mean his death—"
"Don't you dare put his blood on my hands!"
"I saw the men who did this to him. They were not monsters or murderers. A few were hired brutes but the rest were common working men. They were farmers and tradesmen, armed with pitchforks and glass bottles, whatever they could find.
"Unprovoked, they hunted him down, chained him to the floor and tortured him, humiliated him. It might be merciful if the Order finds him before that village has another chance. At least they would give him a quick death. The rest of humanity would not extend him that kindness."
Stella carried the empty bandage rolls to the waste basket and discarded them.
"He's a good man, Stella. He doesn't deserve this."
"Why does it mean so much to you, Gabriel? Why would you risk so much for him?"
"Because he and I aren't so different."
Stella turned to look at the hunter at last. His face was drawn, perhaps because of the late hour, perhaps because of something else.
"Until he regains his strength," she said at last, "and no longer."
"It's all I ask."
"You ask a lot. And what will you do with Bella while he is here?"
"I was hoping that she could still stay with you while I'am gone. I know I'm asking a lot but…"
"You believe she will be safe with that…with him here?"
"I trust him with my life; I would trust him with hers. He's a good man, Stella, you'll see."