The Perfect Poison Page 24

  “Stop, damn you.”

  The shriek that accompanied the words was distracting. Caleb ignored it. Who would have dreamed that there was such dazzling beauty in chaos? He would never be able to analyze it, let alone control it. But surely he was entitled to savor the raging power of the fiery energy that fueled his talent.

  “My heart. My heart. You can’t do this. Stop it.”

  The last word ended on another terrified scream.

  He could no longer tolerate the distraction. Something had to be done about Norcross. Caleb looked away from the hypnotic currents of chaos.

  Norcross had pulled out a gun. Although he gripped it with both hands, the pistol shook wildly. His face was a twisted mask of terror.

  “What are you doing to me?” he gasped. “I’m going to explode. You’re killing me.” He tried to level the pistol at Caleb’s heart. “You’re the one who’s supposed to die, you bastard, not me.”

  Norcross intended to hurt Lucinda. There was only one thing to be done.

  Caleb seized a handful of chaos and swatted Norcross the way he would have squashed an annoying insect.

  Allister Norcross opened his mouth one last time but no scream emerged. He crumpled to the pavement and went very still.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “YOU’RE SURE HE’S DEAD?” LUCINDA ASKED.

  “It’s not the sort of condition one is likely to misdiagnose,” Caleb said. There was no emotion whatsoever in his voice.

  “Sometimes a state of unconsciousness can mimic death.”

  “Trust me, he’s dead, Lucinda. You’ll soon see for yourself.”

  They were in her carriage on their way to the scene of the confrontation. A short time ago she had been so relieved to see Caleb walk into the ballroom that it was all she could do not to break down, weeping in relief. But the moment he had reached her side she sensed the volatile energy of violence shimmering in the atmosphere around him.

  She knew then that her anxiety throughout the evening had not been a product of her imagination. Caleb had nearly died. It would, she thought, take a long time for her nerves to recover from that shattering realization.

  But she was more concerned for Caleb. Something was very wrong. She could feel it. He had just been in a battle for his life, she reminded herself, and he had killed a man. Such things took a terrible toll.

  “He said his name was Allister Norcross?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you acquainted with him?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do with the body?”

  “I was obliged to leave it in an abandoned building.” He looked out the window into the fog-shrouded night. “There was no choice. It is difficult enough to find a hack or a hansom in that part of town if one happens to be alive. I did not think I’d turn up any drivers willing to accept a dead passenger.”

  “Why do you want me to look at the body?” she asked.

  “Because you may be able to discern things with your talent that are unclear to me.” He turned back to face her. “I am sorry to put you through this, Lucinda. But I think it is important.”

  “I understand.” She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. She was shivering, not from the chill of the night but in response to the ice-and-fire currents of his aura.

  Shute brought the carriage to a halt in an empty street outside a darkened building. Caleb got out first. Lucinda followed quickly.

  “Stay here and keep watch,” Caleb said to Shute.

  “Aye, sir,” Shute said. “Here, you’ll be wanting the lantern.”

  Caleb took the lantern and lit it. The splash of fiery light turned his eyes into pools of fathomless shadow. Another chill went through Lucinda. The sense of wrongness deepened.

  Without a word, Caleb turned and led the way down a narrow alley. He stopped at a door and pushed it inward. She collected her nerve and her senses the way she always did when she knew she was about to encounter death and moved cautiously into the room.

  So much for the possibility that Norcross might be in a coma. There was no question but that the man on the floor was dead.

  “Do you recognize him?” Caleb asked.

  “No.”

  “He is not a botanist or a scientist you might have met? Perhaps at a lecture or a talk? Someone your father knew?”

  She shook her head. “I do not know him, Caleb.”

  “What can you tell me about his death?”

  She looked up, startled by the question. “You said you killed him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I . . . assumed you used your gun,” she said hesitantly.

  “No.”

  “A knife?”

  “Take a good look, Lucinda,” he said very softly. “There is no blood.”

  Reluctantly she went closer to the body. “Perhaps he struck his head in the course of the struggle?”

  “No,” he said again in that same flat and deadly tone.

  Cautiously she opened herself fully to the psychical residue that clung to the body. At once the lingering energy of strange and dangerous herbs splashed across her senses. She sucked in a sharp breath and took a step back.

  “What is it?” Caleb asked.

  “There is poison here,” she said quietly. “But it is unlike anything I have ever encountered. It is definitely of a psychical nature, however, and would have affected this man’s talent in unpredictable ways. It is highly corrosive in its effects, destroying even as it temporarily intensifies the senses.”

  “The founder’s formula.” Caleb sounded very certain. “He said Hulsey gave him a new, improved version this afternoon.”

  “I can assure you that if you had not killed him, the drug would have. And quite soon, I think.”

  He took out a handkerchief and crouched beside Norcross. His hands were protected by his leather gloves but he used the square of heavy linen to remove a small object from the dead man’s coat.

  The lantern light gleamed on an elegant gold snuffbox decorated with a triangle fashioned of small green stones.

  “He used snuff?” She frowned. “I did not sense any tobacco on him.”

  “There is a powder inside this box. I think it is the drug.”

  She adjusted her eyeglasses and peered more closely at the lid of the box. “Those look like emeralds.”

  “I’m sure they are.” Caleb studied the snuffbox as though it were a tiny explosive device. “The design itself is alchemical, the symbol for fire.”

  She heightened her senses again.

  “Whatever is inside that snuffbox contains the ingredients in the poison that the dead man was taking,” she said.

  “Is it safe to handle the box?”

  “Yes. I very much doubt that merely coming into contact with the powder would have any serious or lasting effects. One would have to inhale at least a dose or two before it began to affect the psychical senses in a permanent manner. Initially, at least, the effect would actually be quite stimulating. The victim would no doubt think that the drug was heightening his powers.”

  “When, in fact, it was killing him.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated, trying to judge the lethal essence of the powder. “A strong young man like Norcross might last as long as three or four days at most. An older or weaker one would succumb more quickly.”

  Caleb contemplated the tiny emerald-and-gold object. “How do you suggest we destroy the powder inside that box?”

  “Almost anything will render it harmless. I can sense that the composition of the formula is extremely fragile and unstable. An acidic substance such as vinegar will destroy its power. So would alcohol or strong spirits. Heat would also disrupt its harmful properties.”

  “What would happen if one ate it?”

  “Very little, I should think. The digestive process would destabilize it. But I would not suggest ingesting it.”

  “I wasn’t planning to do so.” Caleb wrapped the snuffbox very carefully in the handkerchief and got to his feet. “I
will get rid of this as soon as possible.”

  She looked at Norcross. “What of him?”

  “I will notify Inspector Spellar. He will deal with it.”

  “But how will you explain the manner of death?”

  “That is Spellar’s problem, not mine.” Caleb scooped up the lantern. “Which is fortunate, under the circumstances.”

  She followed him toward the door. “I can understand that you do not wish to be involved in a murder investigation but it was, after all, a matter of self-defense.”

  “That is not the problem, Lucinda.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The problem is that I do not know how I killed that man.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THEY STOOD TOGETHER IN CALEB’S LABORATORY, LOOKING at the crystal goblet sitting on a workbench. The goblet was filled with brandy that glowed warmly in the firelight. The snuffbox was at the bottom of the glass, open and empty, an emerald-and-gold jewel trapped in liquid amber.

  Caleb had diluted the powdered drug and rendered it harmless by a process that involved dousing the little box in several immersions of the brandy. Lucinda had assured him that the formula had been entirely destroyed by the first round of strong spirits but he had not wanted to take any chances. After each immersion, he had emptied the used brandy into an iron pan and burned it off in the heat of the roaring fire.

  “You’re sure it is safe to handle now?” Caleb asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Lucinda said. “It was safe after the first dunking. I told you, the drug is extremely unstable. Once it breaks down, it loses the properties that enable it to affect the senses. Even without interference, I doubt that it would retain its potency for more than a few days at most.”

  He looked at her across the width of the workbench. “You can sense that?”

  “Yes. That powder is like a cut flower. It starts to decay immediately. But why would anyone deliberately take a formula that is so lethal and works so quickly?”

  “I told you, Norcross said it was a new version of the drug. Maybe there had been no time to carry out experiments.”

  “Or perhaps Norcross was the experiment?” she suggested.

  “You may be right. He certainly seemed quite pleased with the effects. He obviously didn’t realize that it was killing him.”

  Caleb fell silent for a moment. She watched him sink into his private place.

  “Do you think you could create an antidote to the drug?” he asked after a while.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know of no plant or herb that would effectively counteract the strange energy of whatever was in that snuffbox. That does not mean that a remedy could not be created someday, but it is beyond my abilities. I suspect it will require advances in the field of chemistry as well as a great deal of research and experimentation.”

  “Do not apologize. Sylvester claimed to have found an effective antidote for the original version of the formula. He went so far as to etch the ingredients on a sheet of gold that covered his strongbox. But he noted that it must be taken simultaneously with the drug. For obvious reasons, there has been no practical way to test its effectiveness.”

  Curiosity fizzed through her. “Do you have the recipe for the antidote?”

  “The original is at Arcane House but I made a copy.”

  He disappeared into the maze of shelving. A moment later she heard the vault door open. When Caleb reappeared he had a notebook in one hand.

  “I inscribed the recipe exactly as it was etched into the sheet of gold foil,” he said.

  He opened the book, turned a page and then moved aside so that she could see his notes. She adjusted her glasses, leaned down slightly and read swiftly through the Latin names of the various plants and herbs.

  “Hmm,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “I recognize most of these ingredients and I am familiar with their normal and paranormal properties. I’m quite sure that none of them would have any effect against the powder that we found in the snuffbox or any other poison, for that matter. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She straightened. “A cup of this so-called antidote would kill a person in a matter of minutes.”

  He exhaled slowly and nodded once. “I had a feeling that might be the case. It was too damned obvious. The wily old bastard left one last trap for his enemies and rivals.”

  “You say he etched that formula on a strongbox?”

  Caleb flipped the notebook shut. “Sylvester knew that someday someone might steal his precious formula. So he left the warning that it was a slow-acting poison and ever so helpfully provided the antidote. Inscribed in gold, no less. What alchemist would have been able to resist?”

  “I see what you mean.”

  He went to stand in front of the hearth and contemplated the flames.

  “It is imperative that we discover Norcross’s address and his connections as quickly as possible,” he said. “It is our only hope of finding Hulsey and the other members of the Seventh Circle.”

  A chill went through her. “What will you do with them when you find them, Caleb? I doubt that you will discover any proof that they committed murder.”

  He did not take his attention off the fire. “I will discuss that issue with Gabe but I think the answer is clear. Hulsey and the people who employed him to brew the drug must be stopped.”

  She folded her arms and watched him closely. “You mean killed, do you not?”

  Caleb said nothing.

  “No.” She uncrossed her arms and hurried to his side. “Listen to me, Caleb. It is one thing to conduct investigations on behalf of the Arcane Society. But you cannot allow the organization to turn you into some sort of executioner for hire. Such work will destroy you as surely as any deadly poison.”

  He gripped the mantel. “What the hell am I supposed to do about men like Hulsey and those who hired him? What of the monsters the formula creates?”

  “I agree such madmen must be stopped. But given the allure of the formula, I fear there will always be those who will seek its power. You cannot undertake the terrible task of killing them all. I will not allow it.”

  He looked at her, his eyes stark. “You won’t allow it?”

  She raised her chin. “I realize that you think it is not my place to tell you what to do. But I cannot stand by and say nothing while you talk of transforming yourself into a professional killer.”

  “Have you got a better solution?”

  She took a deep breath. “I think the answer lies in the very nature of the formula. From what you have told me, those who take any version of it cannot survive long if they are deprived of it.”

  “Destroy the drug whenever and wherever I find it and those who use it will also be destroyed. Is that your answer?”

  “I accept that the Society has a duty to stop those who are intent on re-creating the drug. I also understand that there may be times when you will be forced to act as you did tonight. But whenever possible, I believe that you must let the drug do its deadly work for you.”

  He watched her very steadily. “Do you think that approach will make me any less responsible for the deaths that may result in the years ahead?”

  “Yes,” she said, very fierce now. “I do believe that. It is not a perfect solution. No death, regardless of how it is caused, will be easy for you. All will trouble you. But those who concoct the drug are not innocents, Caleb. They are well aware that they are dabbling in dangerous and forbidden research. If they die as a result of their work, so be it. Let the punishment fit the crime.”

  “You are a formidable woman, Lucinda Bromley.”

  “And you are a formidable man, Mr. Jones.”

  He released his death grip on the mantel and captured her face in his hands.

  He kissed her with a hot, compelling urgency that caught her by surprise. Energy flared but it felt different than it had on the previous occasions when he had made love to her. There was the sensual power
that she had sensed before but also a desperate hunger. The healer in her rose to the surface.

  “Caleb, are you ill?”

  “I think so. I’m not sure. All I know is that I need you tonight, Lucinda.”

  He began to strip the violet gown from her. She heard delicate fastenings pop and fragile silk tear.

  Alarmed, she reached up to frame his face with her hands. The heat in him made her gasp. It emanated not just from his body but from his aura.

  “You feel feverish,” she whispered.

  But even as she said the words, she knew that the fever raging in him had its origins in the metaphysical, not the physical realm. And suddenly she understood.

  “That man you believe you killed tonight—”

  “I did kill him. What is more, I would do it again without a moment’s hesitation. But I am discovering that there is a price to pay for using my talent in such a manner.”

  Shocked, she searched his face. “Caleb, are you telling me that you used your talent to kill that man?”

  “Yes.”

  She suddenly understood. The psychical fever raging in him was an aftereffect of what he had done tonight. If he had indeed killed Norcross with his talent, he had no doubt been forced to push himself to his very limits. He would likely soon collapse in exhaustion. But in the meantime he was trying to contain and control the unsettling whirlwinds and dissonant energy patterns that would be the result of such an enormous effort.

  “It’s all right, Caleb. You are with me.”

  “Lucinda.” His eyes were those of a man standing on the edge of endless night. “I need you more than I have ever needed anything in my life.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, trying to infuse him with her own light and energy.

  “I’m here,” she whispered.

  He pushed her down onto the cot and opened his trousers with quick movements. He did not bother to fully undress. The next thing she knew he was falling on her, crushing her into the thin mattress. The cot creaked and groaned beneath his weight.

  There were no tender, preliminary caresses this time. Caleb handled her with a ruthless desperation. She knew he was exerting enormous control in an effort not to hurt her. But his hot need generated a new and different kind of excitement.