chapter forty-three
THE POISONER
I was close. So incredibly close.
Our visit to the Den gave me a new perspective on what I was dealing with.
Impulsive, abusive, messy pests with no control over themselves and no place in society.
They were unnatural, earning them the fitting title of corrupted .
While Silas insisted that there was a difference between the corrupted and the true born, I did not believe it.
I thought one had just had more time to perfect their craft.
My working hypothesis was that they were all like that deep down.
I imagined that young Vipera and corrupted humans shared a similar level of impulse control.
It would only make sense if both were experiencing these things early on, but as young Vipera aged, they at least had the privilege of mentorship within these “Nests” that Silas spoke of.
I was almost relieved when I remembered him saying how difficult conception was.
That was the only reason they must not have been as prevalent as they already were.
Many lists of connected family names had been drawn up, but I only grouped them by region and kept to the B and C class names with generational wealth, but without infamy.
That was the only way I thought they could skate by without at least one person realizing.
If they stayed mostly confined to these Nests, then it would not be difficult to go about surviving without drawing attention.
Which brought me to the Mellifluous Hosts. It was a critical part of how they kept themselves fed in a somewhat civilized manner, unless you were Silas and left bodies in your wake, seemingly for the fun of it.
Then there was the other shadow that watched my every move, the dark specter that stood in my kitchen, who fed from me without me even knowing.
The only discomfort from that time period would have been sleep paralysis, unless it was just the side effect of the venom while the man fed on me.
He must not be corrupted, but someone like Silas who had had plenty of practice at getting by without raising suspicion.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I tried to rub the feeling away.
Flipping through the pages of the textbook, I jotted down notes and composed hypothetical reactions for my newest rendition of my poison.
I would ensure that it worked this time, for my own sake and for everyone else’s sake who might come across these sick offenses to nature.
“I think almost every time I’ve seen you, you’ve either got your nose buried in a book or a glass.
” A charming laugh rang in my ear. Viktor slid into the chair across from me at the library desk.
“You’ll hurt your eyes if you do that.” He flicked on the desk lamp next to us on the long table.
The library had just installed a dozen of these recently.
I had not thought to turn it on, as I had arrived when it was light outside.
“Thank you.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
“What is that bright mind of yours working on now? Chemistry?” He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand.
“Yes, just working on something small.” I tapped my pen against the paper. “You wouldn’t happen to be good at reactions, would you?”
“I could try my best.” He lifted a shoulder indecisively, dragging my notebook toward him and plucking my pen from my hand. He studied it for a minute before looking at me over the rim of his glasses. “Still working on the toxin and antidote?”
“Yes.”
“The structure is unstable,” he pointed out. “With this, the antidote would cause a bigger reaction than just breaking it apart. It would destroy the poison and possibly surrounding matter. What are you trying to do with it?”
“Precisely that,” I said plainly.
“So you are weaponizing an antidote?”
“I want to see every possibility,” I explained.
He nodded with a smile as if he was amused.
“What?”
“Nothing, just admiring your mind.” He shrugged. “Have you tested any of this?”
“Some of it. It’s just not finished yet.” I pulled my notebook toward me and stole back my pen.
“What happens when it’s finished?” His voice had lost its curiosity. It sounded more like a challenge.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, closing my book and notes before standing.
“Are you not staying in your town house?” he asked suddenly. “I went to give you some literature, but I noticed the mail was piling up.”
“No, there is maintenance to be done,” I lied. “I am staying with a friend.”
“A friend,” he repeated, letting the words hang. I knew he wanted to ask, but he was too polite. He did not press me further.
“Yes, maybe for about a week or two. I am unsure how long the repairs will take.”
“I see.” He paused. “So where can I leave some papers for you?”
“I am unsure—it is best that you hold on to them unless you can bring them to the shop this week.”
“Will you be going to the gala in a few days?”
“If no act of God prohibits me, then yes.” I rolled my eyes. “Phoebe prefers that I come. She thinks she is socializing me like a newborn hound.”
He chuckled at my remark. “She is a good friend. Even if her methods are tedious. From what I have seen, she only hopes the best for you.”
“She does have an unusual way of showing her love.”
“That kind of love is always the purest kind.”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.”
“Well, let me walk you home.” He stood and held his hand out to me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I just?—”
“Is it because of him?” There was a tinge of venom in his tone.
I hesitated to answer, but he had already drawn his own conclusions.
“Don’t worry, I understand.” He nodded. “This is just a gesture, nothing more. Let me escort you home. If you got up and disappeared like so many do at night, I wouldn’t forgive myself.”
His words left me uneasy, sounding vaguely threatening. Maybe it was jealousy I was hearing or bitterness toward the fact that I was with Silas now. Whatever it was, it slipped away faster than it was brought up.