Her fine fingers held the box so gently. She hesitated, possibly due to the other times I’d left “gifts.” Though the real gift from those was her reaction.
The box was only twelve inches long and made of dark wood. I had to call in a favor for this, but I knew she wouldn’t genuinely like anything else.
She unlatched the box and opened it gingerly. Around eight small vials filled with liquid were nestled into the box’s velvet. “What is this?”
“Eight of the deadliest venoms this world has ever known,” I answered her. “I have friends in interesting places. I thought maybe you could use them in your research.” I leaned over her as we sat side by side, peering at the box’s contents.
She looked like I’d given her a ring and gotten down on aknee. Delicate fingers traced over the vials in awe. Something in her eyes told me that she was taking in the moment. Nothing could break her focus. She closed the box, latched it shut, and held it close to her chest. “Change the address. I want to try something.” A vile grin pulled at those pretty lips as her mind raced.
Call me lovelorn, but I adored this woman completely.
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” I said, hitting the wall of the coach to changecourse.
39
THE POISONER
“Please! Just try it. You said that it wouldn’t work. I just want you to tell me how it feels, maybe how it tastes?” I whined.
“I didn’t think you would want to use them on me. I thought we were past this,” he groaned.
Several metal spoons lined the tea table as we sat on the floor. Cushions and old fur blankets were piled under us as we lingered near the steadily warming fireplace. We’d come to my family’s cottage. It was of moderate size, having ten rooms. It was a bit of a backtrack, but the closest place we could go. Most of the furnishings and mirrors were still covered in sheets. It brought back old feelings from worse times, though any ghost of the past had disappeared now that I had company.
I held a spoon up to him. “You said that it won’t kill you, so why the hesitation?”
“You know, I am starting to take this personally.” He rolled his eyes.
“Don’tbe a child. Try it!” I frowned, pressing the tip of the spoon to his mouth.
He reluctantly opened, and I shoved it in.
With my pen in hand, I awaited any insights.
His face twisted at the taste, and he smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “It tastes like... nails.”
“Nails? Do you mean the pain or the taste of metal?”
“Both.” He grimaced. “Remind me never to let you cook for me.” He took a sip of my scotch to wash it down.
“I can cook just fine. Just don’t vex me and I will exclude the cyanide.” I finished jotting down my note before picking up the next spoon. “Now this one.”
“We have tried four already,” he protested.
“Be a good sport.” I glared. “You agreed to be my subject,” I said pointedly. I leaned in and whispered seductively in his ear, “Now open up.”
He sighed and leaned forward, closing his mouth around the spoon and swallowing again. He clenched his eyes shut and winced in disgust.
“If there is a God, I don’t want to know why he would create that.” He choked, downing the rest of my scotch to clear the taste.
“That was mine!” I grumbled. “Now tell me how it tastes.”
“Like rotting flesh left outside on a summer afternoon.”
“Do you think I could...” I trailed off momentarily, thinking about how to phrase my request.
“Could what?” He propped his elbows on his knees so his head could rest in his hands. His eyes followed my pen strokes.
“I want more samples,” I said plainly.
