“Of course, please.” I gestured behind the counter toward the back room to talk discreetly.
She gripped my arm with her clammy hand. “I don’t know what happened, but it stopped working.”
I arched my brow at her. “That is not possible.”
“Well, it is. It was working, I’ll give you that, but then it didn’t. Do you know how much danger you are putting me and my girls in?”
I lowered my voice. “It is not possible, because it would not have degenerated with time. A small amount of that will bring down a horse. I made sure of it.”
“He just got sick, and he came back, and he—” Her voicehitched in her throat. “I thought maybe I didn’t use the correct dosage, but then it just works for some and not all.”
“You do not owe an explanation. Let me get you something else. Was anyone hurt? Do you need anything?” I asked, already picking through the thin drawers behind the counter. I pulled out a small vial. “Arsenic. Though if he is an immediate danger, I would recommend faster, more blunt alternatives. Do not take any more risks than you have to.”
She snatched the vial from my hand and nodded. Without another word, she left my shop in a hurry. I could not tell if she was upset with me, though I could assume that our professional relationship would be affected by this stumble.
There goes my steady supply of test subjects.
The sun had disappearedover the foggy skyline, and the light in the shop slowly dimmed. The glow from the handheld lamp guided me as I closed up for the night. The floors were swept, shelves were faced, and items were restocked before the new day tomorrow. At this rate I would not have time to take apart my new plants.
Until tomorrow, my beautiful specimens.
I turned my back to the door to focus on my one-hundred-and-fifty-drawer apothecary cabinet, shifting through for some loose inventory. I noticed the small leather satchel containing my house-call orders, due to be delivered sometime soon, before I checked to ensure I was not forgetting anything.
A low clicking sound that I couldn’t place echoed through the room.
The sound was so amiss that it took a beat to register that it wasnot some sort of tinnitus rattling in my ear. It was like something had crossed a cicada with the chattering noise a cat made when it saw birds outside the window. A sound of curiosity and predation.
It continued for a long minute that felt eternal.
It was coming from the lab, somewhere far within the darkness that peeked at me through the cracked door.
I debated whether I should snap the door closed or invite the critter in by opening it wider. I decided on the latter. When I did so, the light from the lamp flooded across the dull floor. It illuminated only the dust that fluttered through the air—the curious noise abruptly silenced.
Just a dark, empty shop remained alongside deafening silence.
My brow furrowed as I snatched up my satchel and lamp and closed the door. I would not try to trick myself into believing it was a figment of my imagination. I either tracked in an exotic insect with my fresh shipment of snakeroot or an animal was hidden somewhere in my shop.
The walk home seemed longer than usual that night. My skin shifted with unease from that sound. It was guttural and unfamiliar, though it did give me some excitement about finding the creature in the morning, whatever it was. I always wondered what I would name a newly discovered insect or mammal.
By the time I arrived at my front door, my legs were worn from all the standing and walking from the day. In the foyer, moonlight greeted me as it began to peek through the window above the stairs, scattering across the neat tiles.
Settling into the living room, I poured myself a well-deserved glass of scotch. One thing about Phoebe’s father, Mr. Aston, was that heknewhis liquor and only kept the best around. He also had a knack for collecting some of the oldest bottles and barrels Ihad ever seen, based on the last time I saw his collection at their estate in the country.
With the crystal glass in hand, I kicked my boots off at the bottom of the stairs before I walked up. The slow start to the morning wasn’t helping the fatigue I was currently suffering. The soreness was more noticeable as I ascended each step.
After the first flight of stairs, an audible scattering was heard.
“Anotherpest?” I groaned.
My weapon of choice was a broom from the small closet at the top of the stairs.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
I peeked around the corner at the end of the hall. Then I waited. It could have only gone left or right. As I leaned against the wall and took another sip of my drink, I listened for the next disturbance.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
Again. To the left was my bedroom. I traced the broom along the carpet to see if I could spot any critters on my way, ready to catch them.
