I set down my pen, curious as to what it could possibly hope to find.
What are you looking for? I thought, but no answer came.
My eyes continued sweeping the room, pausing on certain specimens and moving past others, following some logic to which I was not privy.
I was used to the voice's occasional intrusions. The encouragement toward darkness, and even the cold observations. I had learned to resist it and, when I was unable to resist it, to ignore it, but this was different. It felt purposeful in a way that had nothing to do with me—a want that existed independently of my own, a hunger that was not mine settling against the inside of my skull with the quiet weight of something that had been patient a very long time and was beginning, at last, to tire of it.
With great effort, I forced my eyes back to my worktable, just long enough to take up my pen again before its search continued. I noted the specimens my eyes paused on—nothing identifiable as a pattern yet, no obvious connection to one another, but whatever it was searching for, it believed it might be found here.
After examining every possible plant, my companion lost interest—or hope—and went still again, leaving behind only the residue of its disappointment.
I chose not to consider what it meant that I was unbothered by this.
By late afternoon, I had cataloged perhaps two dozen specimens, my hand aching from repetitive writing, and my vision blurring as it did when I had pushed myself too hard.
I was focused on the seedling before me, trying to determine whether it wasDatura stramoniumor the closelyrelatedDatura metel—when Hawthorne appeared, carrying a tray laden with tea things and sandwiches.
He set it on the small table between our workstations, inclined his head in that barely perceptible motion that constituted his version of acknowledgment, then left just as soundlessly as he came.
“Miss Reed,” Dr. Ambrose called, rolling his shoulders as he straightened from his bench. “Join me, please.”
I set down my pen and crossed to the table where he was already pouring tea. He dropped two cubes of sugar into mine—which was precisely how I took it.
I glanced at him curiously as he held it out to me. “How did you know how I prefer my tea?”
He considered this a moment before grinning. “I am a doctor. Being observant is a curse of the occupation.”
I made a noncommittal sound and told myself it was a reasonable answer.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked, his eyes drifting to my hands where they rested around the teacup.
I followed his gaze and suppressed a groan. I had forgotten to position them to conceal the lividity.
“Better now that I am eating something,” I said, which was true if not the answer to the question he had actually asked. I released the teacup and reached for a sandwich, tucking my other hand into my lap. “The work is going well. I have made good progress.”
He watched me closely, but appeared to choose not to press the subject of my health—which I was both grateful for,and simultaneously envious of his ability to contain his curiosity.
“The cataloging is still quite boring, I imagine,” he said, with a teasing edge to his voice.
“As you said, it is necessary work,” I replied with a shrug.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You do not need to dissemble, Miss Reed. I know it is hardly exciting. That is rather the point.”
“The point?”
“Yes, to see if you have the patience for it.” He sipped his tea. “Many people are attracted to scientific research because they imagine dramatic discoveries. They do not realize that ninety percent of the work is exactly this—boring.”
“And you think I might be one of those people?”
“No,” he said. “But one can never be sure.”
I resisted the urge to narrow my eyes, turning my focus to gaining whatever trust he deemed necessary to allow me to assist with the extractions.
“How is your research progressing?” I asked innocently, calculating my plan.
He leaned back, considering. “Belladonna is not the right plant. The alkaloids are too unstable and I believe the effects are too unpredictable. I can induce temporary memory disruption, but the dosage required is dangerously close to toxic levels.”
“That is unfortunate,” I said, feigning disappointment, though I had already guessed as much. “So what plant are you working with now?”
