Chapter 44 The Poisoner
THE POISONER
“You read Oscar Wilde?” Henry flipped through a small booklet. “I’m surprised. I would have thought you’d read nonfiction.”
“I believe I was gifted a short story by a patron.” I stuck my gloved hands farther into the corpse, organs squished as I went at least elbow deep.
“How are you doing with your exploration?”
“Just fine.”
Henry had called me in for another corrupted that was brought in.
It had black blood and was completely dead.
It was like it had spoiled inside the body.
Their insides were always in rough shape, like they had worked five times as hard to keep them running, most notably their livers being the worst out of all of them.
While a healthy liver would have been vibrant in color, a deep red, the corrupted had such bad scarring that it had turned the color of charred beef.
Lastly, their heart was enlarged, utterly overworked from the rapid pace just to keep them conscious.
Then there were the physical traits. They were skinny and lean enough to where I could see their veins clearly, their skin becoming transparent enough to reveal the blackened structure.
“I should have known you would be elbow-deep in a body by now,” Luka chimed from the doorway.
“Who is this?” Henry frowned.
“A friend.” I took a deep breath. “I told you to wait outside if you were going to insist on coming.”
“Ah yes, the best of friends, very close.” Luka sauntered in, poking some of the embalming instruments curiously.
“You should keep your dogs on shorter leashes.” Henry glared at Luka. “They should learn not to touch things.”
“Ya tebe pokazhu gde raki zimuyut.” Luka grinned over his shoulder at Henry.
“Luka!” I scolded, removing my hands from the corpse and heading toward the sink. “Apologies, Henry, I couldn’t shake his company.”
Luka stepped over to the sink and turned on the water for me. “I can’t eat that one?” he whispered.
“No,” I snapped, washing the fluids off and discarding the gloves.
“You must be popular, first the blond and now a brunette? Your taste is all over the place,” Henry joked, kicking his feet up on the table as he read his book.
Luka left my side and sat on the desk next to Henry’s ankles, shoving his shoes off the surface. “Unsterile,” Luka said with a smile. “What do you do anyway, errand boy?”
“I’m an undertaker.” He glared up at Luka, getting flustered now that Luka was so close. The sable-haired Russian made Henry look puny next to him.
“It looks like Alina is more of an undertaker than you right now.”
“Luka,” I warned from the other side of the room.
“Is he your chaperone or something?” Henry joked nervously, glancing from Luka to me.
“A friend,” I repeated.
Luka loomed over him where he sat, and Henry swallowed hard. “Let me help you.” Henry scurried from his seat.
“Just the brass tools need to be cleaned; I already did the glassware.” I collected my coat.
“Right,” he grumbled, eyeing Luka as he took his place beside me.
“Have a wonderful weekend, Henry!” I waved and flashed a sweet smile before leaving the building.
The sun was already setting, and the air was turning chill. The ground was hardening due to the changing temperature.
“Why do you tolerate a little mange like that?” Luka caught up beside me.
“I need his workspace, and he also helps me keep a pulse on this corrupted situation.” I looked up at him. “Speaking of—any luck?”
Luka shook his head. “I have a few places to visit tonight to see if I can pick up a word or two, so far not much chatter in the public. I checked the town bulletin in the square while you were occupied and asked around. They think it’s rabies.”
I nodded and shoved my hands in my pockets, watching my frozen breath dance before my face.
“What are you studying, anyway?”
“I tell Henry I want to be an undertaker. I’m already quite good at chemistry and dealing with bodies.” I shrugged. “I figured it can be something to keep me occupied and grant me inconspicuous access to a crematorium.”
“You have more hobbies than I have had jobs in my lifetime,” Luka frowned. “Do you ever get tired?”
“No, my work is never finished, and I prefer a job well done. So if it means a little extra effort and curriculars, then so be it.”
“Fair enough,” he said as we stopped in front of the shop. “Stopping here or going home?”
“I have some things to clean up before I head back. You can tell Phoebe I’ll be home not too late.”
He nodded but threw me a knowing glance. “You’re sure?”
I nodded.
Something about the chaperoning was familiar, in a sickening, bittersweet way.
It was like a vision of the past, walking the courtyard of King’s College or the late-night escorts back home.
Even now, I’m not entirely sure it was an act—not all of it at least. The simplicity of ignorance would have been better if it lasted longer, unknowing of the danger that now walks beside me.
Now I know it was a performance by a master scavenger, not a shot-caller by any means.
Possibly the start of learning which habits were real and which were for show, another thing to put to the test some other time.
With that he left, quickly fading into the darkening town.
I unlocked the side door to the shop, taking the stairs directly to my lab.
I missed the old lab in London. There were so many instruments I had left behind. They were all probably collecting an absurd amount of dust by now. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it, so I still paid the taxes on it. Or rather, Phoebe did.
I sat down on the stool, staring at my workbench. I didn’t even bother to take off my coat. I needed solitude to recover from a day of socializing.
Under my bench, covered in dust, there was an old trunk. It was black with brass hardware, the initials JL inscribed on the metal latch.
When we fled, it was quick. I packed vital instruments, light and simple clothing, and a few mementos, one of which was my father’s trunk.
I hadn’t opened it, afraid of what I’d find or what I would feel.
I knew he kept some journals and trinkets inside; he used to bring them with him to expositions.
I threw the most important items in it, along with some scraps left behind.
It wasn’t until we unpacked in Buffalo that I realized some of his journals were hidden away inside some pockets of the inside.
I knelt down on the floor, sliding it forward. I polished the dust on the latch with my thumb, rubbing the fallout away from my hands.
I popped it open, the dust rustling like a ghost fleeing the sudden movement.
The hinges creaked as it was pried open.
There were lots of papers, some miscellaneous tools, and assorted photographs.
One photograph was of my father at the lab. He was sitting, turned sideways at the camera, like he was in the middle of papers, and everyone else was just set up around him at the desk. Dr. Hayes sat next to him.
It was hard to tell with the lack of color, but his hair was a light, singular color, a light dusty blond missing the grays that he would later gain on the sides, and eyes bright like my own.
Secured to the inside was a picture of myself.
I was so small, a little rounder in the face before I outgrew the fat cheeks.
I must have been about six in the photograph; the dress I wore was borrowed from Phoebe for the occasion.
We’d had our photographs done the same day; her father had offered to include us since my father had never had his portrait taken.
The white of my brow and lashes jumped out, more than usual, since it was a tintype photograph.
Among the papers, I lifted an unbound stack that I had read too many times before, when we first arrived. I remember being so scared to look at his work, his unfinished work. Perhaps I was afraid it would humanize him.
The cover page read:
The Poisoned People:
The Effect of Blood Disease and Adaptations
on the Human Body
It was fifty pages, yet it was all things I already knew.
All things I found out on my own. He had a simpler hypothesis, and the workings of a meticulous technical experiment to test the bounds of Vipera basic ability and the components of their blood that made it special.
It felt good to be more knowledgeable than my father about something, though it was never fair.
He may have known more if it weren’t for me. I had a head start in a way.
It turned out my father suspected the Vipera’s existence, but he did not see them as creatures, but as an affliction. People who could be helped.
How ironic it was that he was the optimist, and I was the pessimist in this particular instance. My father was not perfect after all.
I had not thought of my father in some time. I suppose when you are surrounded by those who were family adjacent, there is less pressure to mourn the ones who are no longer here.
I wiped the wetness on my face that went unnoticed until it pooled at my chin, dripping onto my hands.
How silly were feelings like these? I would never understand them.
The sound of ringing metal was clear as day, echoing against the street of brick facades.
I went where I usually did when I found myself looking for assurance, John’s shop.
As I stepped into view past the double barn doors, John stopped to wipe his face on a dirty rag. His demeanor lit as bright as the furnace when he saw me, his smile easily melting all who saw it.
“Alina! I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“That makes two of us.” I smiled, moving over to sit on one of the stools by a small wooden table. “Horse’s shoe fell off.”
“I did his shoes a few days ago.” John raised his brow. “Are you ever going to name that poor thing?”
“Afraid not; he knows it as his name now,” I laughed.
“What troubles you, Crow?” John frowned, dragging another stool forward and sitting, brushing off the dirt from the table with his cloth. “You don’t have to make up a reason to stop by.”
“Feeling more lonely today than usual.” I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Those lads aren’t giving you trouble, are they?” His voice was stern.
“No—well, yes, but I’m just feeling a bit foolish. I read my father’s papers again. I don’t know why I keep reminding myself.”
“Because you miss him.” John took one of my hands and clasped it between his.
My hand was so small between them, so fragile.
It was scary to be vulnerable, to talk to someone.
I think I had spoken more to John in these past two years than I ever did while my father was alive.
It wasn’t until I met him that I realized the extent of my neglect.
I think if I asked my father’s ghost what my favorite fruit was, he would say apples.
Or if I asked him what mother looked like, he would hesitate before saying her hair was black.
“I don’t know if those are the right words for it, and it kills me inside.”
“It always helps to focus on what is present. No use debating to have or to have not.”
“I suppose.” I glanced at the blazing fire, heating the room as if it were a summer’s afternoon.
“Those boys, the new ones. Are they . . . the viper kind?”
“Vipera,” I corrected. “Yes.”
“And the blond one,” he started.
“Silas.”
“Is there something there?” he teased. “You got quite flustered when you brought him here.”
“He asked me to marry him,” I replied sheepishly, not including the fact that he demanded it.
“That is wonderful news!” John squeezed my hands, his face lighting up. “Where is the ring?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t accept anything he suggested. I don’t want people suspecting anything about where the money is coming from.”
“Sounds like he has expensive taste,” John laughed. “When I proposed to Elisabeth, I bent two pieces of copper wire into a knot until I could get her something nicer.”
I smiled and nodded. I didn’t want to get too deep into the nuance of it all, but simply pretending to be happy was working. It was better than chasing an adrenaline high, having someone beam with pride and happiness for how your life is going.
“Is he good to you?”
I lowered my face to hide my blush, not really wanting to answer. “He knows me well.”
“But are you happy?”
“Yes,” I said, though I didn’t think I could answer that entirely honestly either, without feeling some sort of guilt.
It was just nice to share news that normal people rejoiced over, and pretend it was all normal and fine, that someone was happy for me. Someone who wasn’t aware of how entirely complicated it had made my life.