Curwen and I made quick work of sneaking past the dark neighborhoods and French watchposts to the university’s outer gates. The night enveloped the massive buildings within to leave them warped pillars of shadow. I had kept away from this place for good reason. On this very campus those shadows had sprung and consumed my brother, spitting out the shaking husk that arrived home for William’s funeral. Curwen opened the unlocked gates effortlessly. There was no creaking, as though dark forces meant to fool us. The air weighed thick in my lungs.

“Come along, Ernest. Thankfully, I took the initiative to drag a few sofas into the library for my leisure. You may rest there.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I stayed close to Curwen as he led me by torchlight inside one of the buildings and down several stone corridors that seemed to stretch forever. Finally, he stopped by a warped wooden door that opened to reveal shelves upon shelves of books lining the cobbled walls. Several piles of tossed volumes lay scattered from the hastily abandoned move.

Curwen chuckled as he stepped inside and began lighting the mounted torches.

“Does something humor you, Mr. Curwen?”

“I was thinking of your brother,” he said. “This library would close after dark, but Victor was never the type to grovel at authority. We would alternate between causing distractions so the other could sneak in and study! I presume he roped you into similar mischief, did he not?”

Curwen stopped by a cluttered desk and quickly placed several of the open books into his satchel. I seized the moment and blotted my runny nose with my coat-sleeve.

“No, I was Victor’s junior by seven years. I am afraid he never did much with me at all.” I could still see Victor’s sneer as he left for university so soon after Mama’s death. Free from his weak, invalid baby brother. “Did he mention me much?”

Curwen continued lighting torches with his back to me. “Victor kept his home and work life in private corridors. You likely noticed that in his letters!”

“He never wrote home,” my shoulders fell. “Not once.”

“Do not take it personally. Men of Victor’s caliber often find themselves so caught up in their work that the real-world slips by.”

“What sort of work?” I questioned, watching Curwen place another book in his satchel before buttoning it shut. “Mr. Curwen, surely you do not believe Walton’s lies?”

Curwen paused, choosing what to say. Victor had done that too. Shifting through information, pulling out the choice details.

“He worked in the sciences. Victor was a genius, as you know,” Curwen walked out the door with a nod. “Now rest, Ernest. We shall start for Geneva tomorrow.”

The door shut and I was left alone in the disorganized room. I picked up a badly bent copy of A Vindication on the Rights of Women and returned it to the shelf. Reading had never come easy to me like with Victor. I was still a child when my parents had abandoned their academic aspirations for me and left me to my own devices. A fine thing for a young boy, perhaps that was why I had found Victor’s insistence of making a scholar out of me so tiresome. He had appointed himself as my principal instructor, and not even Elizabeth’s sweet voice pointing out the obvious had swayed him…

“Ernest lacks the constitution for these theorems and formulas, cousin. He ought to strive for a more peaceful occupation, such as a farmer,” she said, almost pleading.

“Nonsense,” Victor muttered. He pushed another book in front of me, as though my confusion would be overpowered by his desire alone. “He is more than capable of being a lawyer, or a judge like Father. If he would just apply himself!”

“Victor,” her voice grew quiet. I still heard her. “You know his mind is incapable of severe application.”

“Well, I do not care for boring books,” I jumped up and Victor’s handwritten lessons scattered. “Or being a boring farmer! I will be a great soldier, fighting off vicious invaders and going on adventures!”

Victor and Elizabeth had shared a look. I did not understand at the time, but even back then they knew my limits. My weak frame could never survive the grueling life of a soldier. The trappings of my flesh outweighed my dream. I abandoned such fantasies soon enough. Probably for the best, there was no longer a Geneva to fight for anyways.

“But you are sleeping on silk tonight,” I lectured my inner demons while brushing dust from an old sofa. “And fate has been kind enough to gift you a companion! I am no longer alone, there is much to be thankful for tonight.”

Warmth spread through me as I sunk into the cushions. Curwen needed me, and as the torchlight shadows danced on the ceiling my thoughts left the past to focus on how I might aid the generous American in the future. My mind was at peace, though sleep eluded me as I slipped in and out of consciousness. It must have, for the shapes within those swaying shadows had no place in the waking world! A ball of sprawling tentacles flickered forward and back in some wicked séance while very human shapes danced around it to an unheard beat before crumbling to dust. Those horrible shadow tentacles licked up the dancers’ remains with an eagerness that paralyzed my limbs from silent terror. Then the tentacles leaked down the library walls to consume me just as the knowledge stored here had devoured Victor.

**

The next morning, a voice speaking in an unknown tongue shattered the nightmare. Curwen stood over me expectantly, speaking that same foreign language again with raised eyebrows.

“I take it you do not speak English?”

“No,” I yawned, rubbing my eyes to hide growing shame.

“I apologize, your brother was fluent—”

“I am not my brother,” I curled my trembling fingers around my cane. We could talk after leaving these cursed grounds behind! “But I can take you to him.”