PROLOGUE
Have you ever wondered how long it would take for a lethal dose of arsenic to kill you?
Thirty-five hours, twenty-nine minutes, and fifteen seconds.
I should know.I counted myself.
1
THE POISONER
My heels clicked against the wet cobblestones as I stepped out of the coach. The rain was pouring steadily that night. Heavy water drops fell from the dark expanse above, only becoming illuminated when they passed the streetlamps on their descent. The footman held out an umbrella as I stood there looking up at the white stone apartments. The windows were alight with life, people in every room, and warmth traveled through the many corridors. The shadows of people inside teased the activities that were concealed within. Phoebe’s place must have had at least fifty rooms by the sheer size of it. One could easily get lost and never resurface.
“Alina!” Phoebe squealed from the doorway. “Perfectly late!” she quipped. “You woreblack?”
“Black is suitable for every occasion.” I grinned, entering as I greeted her.
“Well, it doesn’t have to beeveryoccasion. This is a party, not a wake.” My dear friend let out a dramatic sigh, her hands thrown up in defeat. She knew that my tastes were veryparticular and wouldn’t be the first to try to change my mind about them.
My brow flicked up in amusement at the peeved redhead. “Phoebe, relax. I promised that my attire would be up to the dress code.” I slipped off my overcoat, and it was whisked away by one of her beetling staff. I gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “Besides, you can never be too prepared. What if a guest brings you to such anger that you smite them? I will be fashionably prepared for the occasion.”
Phoebe could not keep up her irritated facade, and her tight expression twisted into an excited beam. Her arms wrapped around my neck in a tight hug. “It’s good to have you back. We have much to catch up on! Even with a year’s worth of letters, I still haven’t heard much about what little quests you’ve embarked on!”
“You didn’t miss out on much, though I’m sure you have much more exciting stories than I.”
“Well, then we must create some trouble now that you’re home.” Her arms were crossed in front of her, a smirk gracing her dainty, sprite-like features. A strawberry curl untucked from her neat bun, framing her pale little face. Phoebe was one of those girls who had an effortless air to her beauty. Her skin was like alabaster, pale enough that you could see every emotion through the rosy heat that graced her cheeks. Her red hair made her green eyes all the more captivating.
“Then it is trouble we shall create.” I smirked back.
Phoebe and I had been friends since before I could remember. We were like two thorns of the same rose, an easy connection between us. Our fathers worked together often in the pharmaceutical industry, though her father had his hands in a plethora of other pursuits. My father was a one-industry pony—he dedicated his life to studying medicine throughbotany, chemistry, and physiology. I admired him for that. It was a noble profession, and he was able to get far with the investment of Phoebe’s father. Sometimes I wonder what else he could have given the world if he had not passed last year.
Losing him broke a part of me that I would never understand. I spent the last year as a hermit on our country estate. With the social pressure of being friends with Phoebe, I could not risk being seen in that state. My father’s reputation was the only thing I had left of him, and I would be damned if I tainted it by acting out. I did not expect to return so soon, but I missed the city’s life.
I never thought I would be one to miss the nights Phoebe would host, though I might have overestimated how well I could handle this much socializing after a few days of travel. Overstimulating was an understatement when it came to the chaos she could curate.
Everything about her home was large and grand, with an extraordinary decorative staircase that snaked up both sides of the room and conjoined at the top. There were archways on either side and straight ahead under the balcony of the stairs. Dozens of art pieces littered the walls, and rare furniture was scattered about. Some of these pieces would have made the best craftsmen weep in awe. It all radiated wealth and status, perfect for hosting hundreds until they stumbled out at dawn just to repeat it again the following week.
Her hand gripped my arm as she pulled me toward one of the many rooms. The humming of chatter swelled as we neared. Everyone was dressed in silken gowns and tailored suits. The silhouettes were enough to intimidate anyone, even those familiar with the latest fashion plates.
The gown I’d chosen had a simple silhouette. It hugged my waist, aided by my corset,smoothing down the front of my hips before it pooled straight to the floor. The back of the dress slightly bustled before a subtle train followed behind me. The black silk left a slick shine, reflecting the soft ambient light with every cascade and gather. The neckline was low and wide, nearly off my shoulders, adorned with fabric roses that decorated the front of my bust and scattered through the draping. A thick lace choker with a matching black flower was secured high on my neck. Lastly, my hair was half up, with inky ringlets draped over my shoulder. In my hand, I clutched my black feather fan, silk opera gloves climbed up and ended above my elbows.
Phoebe’s dress was similar, but was a soft blush pink with white lacy details. She chose a more dramatic corset silhouette that accentuated her breasts in an impressive display. Her gloves were entirely made of thick white lace, and her fan was made of silk with similar decorative elements as her dress. She also chose less modest jewelry, with heavy diamonds kissing the skin around her neck and ears. She shined like fresh dewdrops on the pink roses in her garden. I had always believed she was the most beautiful woman to walk the earth, and she had not proven me wrong thus far.
“Then I heard that Benjamin is here looking for our acquaintance, Mary, which is quite delicious because I heard she may have already taken a lover.” Phoebe looked back at me while she clutched my arm, realizing I had drifted off. “Alina, what troubles you? You disappeared in there.” She frowned, jabbing her index finger at my temple.
“I am well. I just haven’t gotten a routine together,” I mumbled, following her through the crowd, our arms looped together. We plucked champagne flutes off the nearest passing platter and drifted over to mingle with the other guests.
Phoebe radiated elegance and hospitality. Myown aura had always been a bit unapproachable, maybe a bit macabre. It was not an issue personally, as I preferred some distance between myself and strangers. I already brought too much attention to myself by existing most days. When I thought about it, seeing what kind of characters dared to approach was amusing.
Phoebe was chatting up some pompous characters I had never seen before. Faces all began to look the same after a while, so I would not remember if I did meet them once upon a time. “This is my dear friend, Alina Lis. She owns the apothecary next to the florists in the West End. She’s a sort of scientist!”
I tensed when I realized she had been talking about me. I appreciated her enthusiasm for my profession, but not every man was appreciative of women owning or inheriting property, never mind working in any scientific field. The shop was my father’s and was passed to me when he died.
“Nowadays I write for scientific journals about the toxicity of beauty products and offer safer alternatives. If you read the tabloids, you may have read my work.” I gave a polite smile, not looking for remarks about women working outside their “expertise.” It put men at ease sometimes, to know that my skills involved something more feminine. Explaining myself was exhausting. I would instead dumb it down to keep my peace.
Speaking of peace, there was the matter of the under-the-table products reserved for women looking to eliminate any unsavory characters, bound by marriage or otherwise. My exceptional understanding of botany and chemistry had allowed me to aid in the disappearance of many men—a professional poisoner, if you will. Phoebe didn’t know that half of the business existed, but her up-to-date gossip made choosing my next subjects fairly easy.
I preferred not to call them victims. They were anything but.
