The Perfect Poison (29 page)

Caleb walked toward the corner where a single gas lamp glowed in the mist. The glary light served as a beacon but it did not penetrate far into the night. His intuition warned him that he was being followed even before he heard the footsteps echoing behind him. The door to the tavern had not opened again. Whoever was back there in the shadows had been watching the entrance from across the street, waiting for him.

He had been followed from the Wrothmere ball, he thought. That certainly explained the edgy sensation he had been experiencing for the past hour.

Heat and energy pulsed through him, the same arousing sensations he experienced when previously dark sections of the maze were suddenly illuminated. It was always possible that his follower was an ordinary footpad seeking a convenient victim to rob but his talent told him otherwise. He estimated there was a ninety-nine percent probability that he was about to meet Perrett’s demon.

He kept his own pace steady and deliberate as though unaware of the man behind him. The footsteps drew closer. There was no point in turning around to try to catch a glimpse of his pursuer. Only a true hunter endowed with psychical night vision would be able to see anything more than a dark shadow in the thick fog.

He removed one glove, put his hand into the pocket of his overcoat and took out the gun. Keeping the pistol out of sight alongside his leg, he moved into the glowing mist that surrounded the streetlamp.

The shocking blast of fear came out of nowhere. It stopped his breath for an instant, scattering his senses and flaying his nerves. There was a sharp clang. He realized in a rather vague way that he had dropped the gun.

He stumbled to a halt, frozen with a nameless dread that, in some small corner of his brain, he knew had no basis in logic or reason. His pulse thudded. His lungs tightened. It was all he could do to breathe.

He was suddenly plunged into his ultimate nightmare, teetering on the brink of the abyss that was chaos. Raw panic scorched through his veins.

Instinctively and intuitively he heightened all of his senses in response to the assault. His talent flared. The sense of impending chaos receded slightly, enough to allow him to pluck a few certainties from the swamp of incomprehensible darkness that threatened to engulf him.

He is doing this to you. This is how he murdered Sharpy and Daykin. He sends his victims into a great panic. You must push back or you will drown in chaos.

He would not leave the world like this, a victim of a maelstrom of utterly random, meaningless energy. He would find the patterns of clarity, reason and stability. That was his gift and he would use it to make the center hold even if he died in the process.

It took every fiber of willpower that he possessed but he managed to turn around to confront the killer. The process seemed to take an eternity because he had to concentrate so fiercely to make his muscles respond.

Perrett’s demon materialized out of the fog and moved into the misty light. There were no flames in its eyes, no long claws or giant bat wings, but Caleb did not doubt but that he was confronting a monster.

“I’m surprised to see you here tonight, Jones.” The creature came to a halt a few feet away. “Not the sort of neighborhood where one expects to find a gentleman of your station, is it? What brings you to these streets? Some amusing lust that cannot be satisfied in a better part of town, perhaps? A favorite opium den?”

Caleb said nothing. He was not sure he could speak. The searing energy assailing his senses seemed to have paralyzed his tongue. But his talent was responding to his will. Deep in his mind, a maze grew sharper, clearer, more comprehensible. A crystal wall glowed here, a floor there. Now all he had to do was find ways to link the illuminated portions.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the demon said. With a leisurely gesture he stripped off a glove, reached into his coat pocket and took out a small object that gleamed gold in the hazy light. “My name is Allister Norcross.”

He opened the snuffbox and took a pinch of the powdery contents. Holding the mixture to his nose, he inhaled sharply.

An instant later another sharp blast of panic scorched Caleb’s senses. It was all he could do not to collapse to the pavement in shivering, mindless terror.

“Ah, yes, the new version of the formula is working very well, indeed,” Norcross said. “Hulsey was right.”

Inside the maze more corridors glowed. Caleb forced back the tidal wave of fear and focused on the pattern. He could do this. He knew how to hold his emotions at bay while he engaged his talent. He had spent most of his life learning how to control the core of wild, dangerous energy that was the source of his psychical power.

“I must say, I’m disappointed in you, sir.” Norcross closed the snuffbox and dropped it back into his pocket. “I expected more from a member of the legendary Jones family.”

“What do you want from me?” Caleb got out.

“So you found your tongue, did you?” Norcross was pleased. “Very good. Now I am somewhat impressed. Very few people can manage a coherent sentence when I demonstrate my talent.”

Caleb said nothing.

“I will tell you what I want from you, Caleb Jones.” Excitement crept into Norcross’s voice. “I want to watch you go mad with fear, and then I want to watch you die of sheer fright.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy such entertainment, of course. If it is any consolation, you will make a suitable test subject for the latest version of the formula. Hulsey gave it to me this afternoon and I have not yet had an opportunity to experiment. I will be an audience of one, however. Sadly, the truth of what I can do with the power of my mind must remain known and appreciated only within a very small circle.”

“One of the Circles within the Order of the Emerald Tablet.”

For a couple of seconds the pressure of fear let up. Caleb realized that the statement had surprised Norcross into losing his focus for a short time. Generating fear at such a high level would require great energy and intense concentration.

A second later, however, another wave of panic struck. Even though he was prepared for it, Caleb sensed chaos drawing closer.

“So you have learned something of the Order,” Norcross said. “More than certain parties have realized, perhaps. Very good, Mr. Jones. In answer to your question, I am a member of the Seventh Circle of Power. But that is about to change. Those of us in that Circle will soon be elevated to a much higher level.”

“Killing me is the price of promotion?”

Norcross laughed. “No, Jones, killing you has become necessary because you have been deemed a threat to my Circle. We have no choice but to get rid of you now that it has become obvious that you have discovered Hulsey’s trail. Can’t have you finding him, you see. That would ruin everything. After you are gone, I will see to Miss Bromley and then all the loose ends will have been snipped off.”

And with that a dozen more corridors glowed in several different dimensions within the maze. A new kind of fear shuddered through Caleb. This was no longer a matter of hanging on to his sanity until his last breath. He had to survive this encounter in order to protect Lucinda. That realization allowed him to focus with renewed intensity.

“Miss Bromley is not a threat to you,” he said.

“Perhaps not, but we really can’t take any more chances. The public and the press will not be unduly surprised to learn that she poisoned you, just as she did her fiancé. Then she will take her own life, just as her father did. All very neat, don’t you think?”

“Lucinda knows nothing about your damned Circle.”

“You, of all people, will surely understand the need to be thorough. Now then, this conversation has been amusing but it is finished. Goodbye, Mr. Jones.”

Chaos rose up out of the abyss, a dark wave of uncontrolled power. Caleb took refuge in the most brightly lit section of the maze in the dimension where the single most important truth glowed with the strength of the sun. He had to survive because he was all that stood between the demon and Lucinda. The answers, when one finally saw them, were always so astonishingly simple.

The whirling darkness crashed over and around the psychical construct in his mind. Caleb watched the scene from within the safety of the crystalline structure. A strange exhilaration swept through him. It was not often that one was given a chance to observe the raw power of pure chaos. He was enthralled.

He thought he heard a man scream somewhere in the night but he ignored it, his entire attention fixed on the raging currents. He concentrated harder, certain now that he could perceive the faintest glimmerings of a pattern in the very heart of the energy storm.

He knew then that all the answers were there, waiting for him. He also understood with complete certainty that no man could fully comprehend such grand truths and still remain sane. Nevertheless, a glimpse or two would be enough to thrill him to the end of his days.

“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.

“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.”