Salisbury, England, 1814
Angelika Frankenstein knew what physical qualities her ideal man should have; unfortunately, she had to find those attributes at the morgue. She and her brother were in the doorway of the basement, like two customers about to stroll into a fruit market. Laid out on tables were around thirty corpses.
“I never get used to the stench,” Victor Frankenstein remarked through his shirt cuff. “Be quick and choose.”
“I’m always quick,” Angelika replied into her perfume soaked handkerchief.
“Why would I want to linger?”
“Because you want to make sure you choose the best- looking.”
Angelika was aghast. “I do not.”
“What’s the price tonight, Helsaw?” Victor asked the morgue attendant in a raised voice. Helsaw sat outside the doorway on an upturned pail, biting his thumbnail in loud snips. “A shilling each,” he said to Victor, then spat on the ground.
Victor considered it. “Any room for negotiation? Two corpses for a shilling?”
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