chapter seven
THE POISONER
I t had been a week since that night, but I could remember it like it was yesterday.
Or at least I thought it could be yesterday. Had it been a week or two? A day or a few? I tried not to bother myself with any sort of counting while I recovered from my concussion. Trying to measure out dosages was hard enough, never mind keeping track of days.
I wished I could say that it did not shake me, that I was strong and fearless of whatever life brought me. In all honesty, it made me question my capabilities. I had never been so intimate with death in my lifetime, and I did not intend on that kind of proximity again.
The light from that big circular window shone in my eyes that dreadful morning.
My hair was matted to the side of my face when I awoke, covered in old blood.
The wood of the stairs was now permanently marked with a crimson stain, despite how many times I scrubbed it.
That mark on the floor was the only indication that anything had happened that night.
Otherwise, there were no signs of break-in or commotion.
Even the vase I threw was neatly placed back on the table, a set of red poppies placed aptly inside.
A cheeky reminder that I was alive only because he allowed it.
The only reason the police were not informed was because I knew that the man could not have survived very long afterward. The venom would have killed him in a day. There was no cure for snake venom. Not one that was easily accessible at least.
As far as Phoebe knew, I got drunk and fell, which was not entirely implausible. If she knew what happened, I would never get another moment to myself for as long as I lived. She had been checking on me daily, coming to my place for our morning routine to ensure I was resting.
Phoebe had developed the habit of overstaying her welcome.
She joined me for every activity, even coming to the apothecary and pretending to be interested in plants to make me feel better.
It was amusing, but it made it difficult to consult with my special clients while she was around.
Today, she was a specific brand of nervous chatter.
“I think Edith got an invite to the masquerade party. I guess they let anyone in these days,” she babbled, trying to fill her boredom with gossip.
“Oh, yeah? Who’s that?” I asked vacantly, prompting her to find something to talk about while I took inventory of the shelves. Notes were taken on what was low in stock as I climbed up the wall ladder, step-by-step, until I was at the highest shelf.
Phoebe ranted about the happenings, love triangles, and other side stories she had not gotten out of her system yet.
“I am having an event in a few days. Just something small and intimate in the botanical gardens! It’s right up your alley with all your…
plant things ,” she said awkwardly, and gestured to the wall in front of her, not really knowing how to add to the topic.
She shifted in place as she observed the bottles on the walls, picking at her nail beds.
“You don’t have to stay with me. I promise I am well.” I threw her a reassured smile.
“How do I know you won’t fall off that ladder? Or in the back room with all those dangerous instruments? Or?—”
“Phoebe, I’m fine.” I leaned down toward her on the ladder and offered my pinky out. “I promise.”
She gave me a distraught look before she gave in, hooking her pinkie around mine. “Please just call me if you feel even a little cold. All right?” she pleaded.
Nodding, I squeezed our pinkies together before letting go.
She left me hesitantly as my next client arrived.
I picked up a glass from the top shelf and leaned down to hand it to her, rattling off the vital usage information before returning my focus to the stock.
The end of my pencil was pinched between my teeth as I wondered whether I should make different-ounce bottles for more variance in quantities.
The moment the bell went off by the door, the air in the shop weighed heavily on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood erect, and my still-healing head wound throbbed once again.
No. Impossible.
As the thoughts crossed my mind, that incessant clicking cut through the air, the vibration tickling my eardrums.
“Do you by chance have anything for snake venom?” a cool voice asked.
I stared at the shelf. My mind immediately went over every possibility of how he could have survived. Each conclusion had a probability of near zero.
“You know, when a snake bites, it is usually because it gave you a fair warning to run.” I smiled sweetly, looking down over my shoulder from my place up on the ladder.
I realized that this was the first time I’d gotten an objective look at my attacker.
The blond figure innocently tilted his head up at me, but it did not take a saint to see that the man was dripping in sin. Those same gray eyes peered back at me in what could have possibly been adoration.
God help me and whatever this man was thinking.
I wouldn’t lie. He was beyond what I expected.
Simply calling him handsome would not do him justice.
Every fiber of this man was fashioned to tempt, designed for predation.
His sharp jawline and muscular physique were like something only the masters could carve from their imagination rather than coming from reality.
His hair was neat and swept to the side, paired with his finely tailored attire.
I was almost jealous of the clothing clinging to his body, though I was most jealous of that scarf around his neck—which I would love to replace with my hands.
He approached the shelves, trailing a finger carefully over the countless bottles and studying the little labels, then leisurely leaning down to look at a lower shelf.
How arrogant, the way he was so comfortable in a place he did not belong. Typical of a man.
“Do you know why the mongoose almost always wins against the snake?” he asked, not bothering to look back up at me as he crept closer.
“The snake believes her bite is the most reliable way to kill, as she hasn’t been given a reason to believe otherwise.
” He placed a hand on the side of my ladder when he finally made it to my side.
“The only problem is that the snake could never anticipate that the mongoose has a resistance to her unforgiving bite, and has developed a taste for his rival’s flesh.
” He tilted his head, turning his gaze up to me.
“Don’t be silly. You are a man, not a mongoose,” I sneered.
“Again, I am neither of those things, but I know that metaphors are hard to grasp for you scientific folk .” He grinned, leaning against the shelf as he watched me.
My boots hit the floor as I climbed down from the ladder.
It was alarming how tall he was now that I saw him in broad daylight—at least six feet four. I was a little put off, since I was usually taller or equal height to the men around me.
This must be how Phoebe felt having to crane her neck up at me all this time.
His expression did not waver as I studied him. Blood rushed to my cheeks, as I realized I may have been staring too long.
I turned on my heels, granting myself the comfort of putting the wooden counter between us.
“You almost seem disappointed. That hurts,” he said mockingly, gripping his heart dramatically, then resting his elbows atop the counter. While his demeanor might be playful, the look in his eyes was purely carnal, focused on one thing only. “I thought we had such a lovely time.”
“How are you here?” I questioned, fidgeting with drawers and their contents.
“Why would I not be, darling?”
“The venom.”
“My entire body is made of poison.” He laughed. “Or maybe I just got lucky.”
“I don’t believe in luck.”
“There are many things you don’t believe in, but probably should.” He leaned in closer. A gloved hand reached out toward the side of my head.
I slapped his hand away, and he gave me an expression that imitated some sort of pity, like he was tending to an injured lamb.
“Relax. I can smell how agitated you are from here. I just wanted to see my handiwork again.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but I will make sure to liquify your insides the next time you lay a hand on me.” It took all my energy not to look away, every single one of my senses lighting up like gunshots in the night.
His stare was intense, something uncanny that made my body scream that I should get away, run, and hide from his view.
My threat only made his smile grow wider. “Sounds like a date.”
“What?”
“You heard me perfectly fine.” He winked, sliding me a calling card.
“I try to kill you, and you take it as flirtation?” I raised my brow, rotating the paper and glaring at the typeface.
Silas Forbes
Astor Industrial & Petroleum
The name sounded familiar. It was most likely a name that I had heard a few times before at various events and gossip circles. I would not be surprised if I heard it from Phoebe earlier, though I admittedly was not listening.
Of course this bastard came from money. How else could he afford to be so reckless?
“Mr. Forbes.” I studied the card.
“Silas,” he corrected. “If we are going to become acquainted, I’d rather you not address me like a stranger.” He propped his head in his hand.
“What makes you think I want to see you?”
“You’re a curious creature. I know that you want to. Don’t you want answers?”
I raised my brows in mock surprise. “Oh, of course! I shall host an interview in my home with tea and biscuits on the off chance that you do not kill me first! Completely reasonable. Do you take me for a fool? ”
“Quite the opposite, but I know that your curiosity will eat away at you until your mind is satisfied.”
I changed the subject. “You cheated.”
“Pardon?”
“Our wager last time we spoke. You said you would give me a head start as a sign of good faith.”
“What if I decided to pursue you in bad faith?” He cocked his head to the side. “I can’t help it. Don’t get mad at a Windhound for chasing something that runs.”
“Again with the zoomorphism.” I rolled my eyes, shoving the card into a miscellaneous drawer before slapping it shut. “If you were an animal, you would be a pest.”
“I hope you will wear something nicer next time. I like it when my meals come with those pretty little garnishes.” He ignored my previous chide.
I bit my tongue and glared, turning away and forcing myself to focus on another task other than him. He had proved to be quite an irritant already. Maybe if I ignored him, he would disappear—like a boogeyman.
His footsteps receded, followed by the ring of the front door. His presence was pervasive, bringing a stifling air to any room he was in. It even lingered after he left, like a strong cologne.
While his interactions made me uneasy, they made me look forward to the next. I would be lying if I said his departure did not disappoint me.
I wanted to strip that smug look from his face when I eventually found a way to remove his stain from this earth.
For once, I had a competent subject, but there was an inconvenient learning curve.
Most of my work did not involve a chase, offense or defense.
Poison was straightforward like that. I would prove every thought that crossed his mind wrong in the coming days, weeks, months—however long it took for him to succumb to me.
Men, they were all the same. This one just happened to have an appetite for these things. It shall be no different than the rest. They all gave in and withered at my will, one way or another.
Brrrrrrring.
I looked up from my book to peer at the door. I heard a rustling and then a clang of the metal letter slot as it slapped shut. The mail had dropped.
Placing my book carefully on the tea table, I set my pen down in the middle to mark my place.
A copy of the Young Ladies’ Journal was in the basket when I glanced at the letter bin, but nothing worth ringing the bell for.
Unlocking the door, I peered out to see a small rectangular box on the front step.
Gingerly, I collected the box and placed it on the table. I awkwardly seated myself across from it, the box confusing me as I was not expecting a parcel.
It was wrapped in expensive paper and felt light, like a gift. Phoebe would have told me if she was sending something for me, so that was one sender out of the question. The only other acquaintance I knew who might go through the trouble would be Mr. Forbes.
Do I want to open this? What if I pretend I never saw it and throw it in the bin? It is not too late to turn back now.
After several thoughtful moments and eventually deciding against my better judgment, I unwrapped the paper from the box, revealing a velvet casing.
Christ, I am beginning to think he’s less interested in killing me and more interested in courting me.
When I opened it, I saw one of the most beautiful pearl pieces I had ever seen.
The demi-parure necklace was a choker made entirely of strings of seed pearls.
The strands were bent and fashioned into rosettes with a gold clasp in the back.
It was quite thick, as it had several strings stacked horizontally.
As I inspected it closer, I noticed something different about the jewelry.
Usually, a piece like this would have been made of horsehair, something fine but strong enough to hold the most delicate pearls. But the hair seemed finer, and black was an odd color to use when stringing white pearls.
There was a note within the box.
I would have strung them with hair from my last grand gesture, but I thought using yours would do perfectly well, a more personal touch.
—Silas
The realization hit me, and I could feel the bile rise in my throat.
I dropped the necklace and forced my body out of the room, releasing whatever my stomach was holding on to over the tile.
He is the devil. This I am sure of.
A burning, hot anger was building in my chest, making my fingers and toes grow cold as the blood rushed to my core. What could I have possibly done to deserve my own personal demon?