THE DOOR TO THE LABORATORY OPENED JUST AS BASIL Hulsey was about to put the latest version of the formula into the water dish. Jolted by the interruption, his hand jerked, spilling several drops of the drug onto the floor. The six rats watched him through the bars of the cage, malevolent eyes glittering in the glow of the gas lamp. “What in blazes?” Hulsey yelped, furious. He whirled around, intending to chastise the hapless person who had dared to enter his domain uninvited. He was forced to swallow his anger when he saw who had stormed into the room. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Norcross,” he muttered. He adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “Thought it was one of the street boys the apothecary uses to deliver the herbs.” His new financial backers were just as arrogant and just as obsessed with the founder’s formula as his previous patrons. They were all the same, he thought, men of wealth and rank whose only interest in the drug lay in the power they believed it would give them. They had no appreciation for the wonders and mysteries of the chemistry involved; no comprehension of the difficulties that had to be overcome. Unfortunately, rich gentlemen who were willing to finance scientific experiments of the sort that interested him were hard to come by. Two months ago, following the collapse of the Third Circle, he had found himself between patrons. All of his equipment and several valuable notebooks had been destroyed or confiscated by the Society. The last thing he had wanted to do was become involved with the Order of the Emerald Tablet again. But its members seemed to be the only people around who were willing to pay for his unique talent. “We have just learned that Caleb Jones was seen calling on Lucinda Bromley this morning,” Allister Norcross said. Unnerving energy shivered through the space between them. Hulsey was instantly thrown into a state of anxiety. Allister Norcross had probably never been what anyone would call normal. Now, his talent heightened by the drug, he was quite terrifying. In looks, he was unremarkable. He possessed the sort of features that appealed to the ladies but he was not so pretty that men found him effeminate. His brown hair was cut in a fashionable style and his elegantly tailored coat and trousers emphasized his lithe, athletic frame. It was not until one got close to him that one realized he was unhinged. Heart pounding, Hulsey took an instinctive step back. He came up hard against the cage. It shuddered under the impact. He heard the scurrying of little clawed feet behind him and quickly moved away. Yanking off his spectacles, he fished a stained handkerchief out of his pocket. He often found that polishing his glasses calmed his nerves. Norcross scowled at the cage and then looked away. He did not like the rats. Probably because they did not frighten easily, Hulsey thought. Or perhaps it was because he sensed that he might have more than a little in common with them when it came to savage impulses. Hulsey positioned the glasses back on his nose and attempted to compose himself. “I don’t understand, sir,” he said. He had a nasty suspicion that he was missing something of great importance here. He did not like the feeling. “Is there a problem?” “You fool. Caleb Jones has become involved in this affair and it is your fault.” Alarm shot through Hulsey. So did outrage. “I have no notion what you are t-talking about,” he stuttered. “You cannot blame me if your Circle has come to Jones’s attention. I c-can assure you I had no hand in whatever has occurred.” “We are reasonably certain that Jones is, as yet, unaware of the existence of the Seventh Circle. We intend to see to it that remains the case. Steps will be taken.” “Uh, what sort of steps?” Hulsey asked, more nervous than ever. His talent was of great use to the Seventh Circle but the one thing that had been impressed upon him during his short association with the Third Circle was that the Order of the Emerald Tablet did not tolerate failure or serious mistakes. “That is none of your affair,” Norcross said. “But bear in mind that you are responsible for the problem of Caleb Jones. I have been sent here today to inform you that the leader of the Circle is extremely displeased by your careless actions. Do you understand me, Hulsey?” “H-how can you blame me for the fact that Jones has paid a call on Miss Bromley?” Hulsey asked, bewildered. “You’re the one who stole that damned fern from her conservatory.” “What in blazes does that have to do with Jones? I took that fern a month ago. I doubt that Miss Bromley even noticed it was missing. She certainly didn’t call in Mr. Jones to investigate at that time.” “We do not yet know precisely why Jones has become associated with Bromley now, but the leader suspects that it has something to do with that bloody fern. It is the only connection.” Hulsey glanced uneasily at the fern. It sat in a pot on a workbench, its delicate fronds spilling forth in a fountain of vibrant green. It was a magnificent and most unusual specimen with a number of intriguing psychical properties. His experiments thus far had convinced him that it held the potential to take him to the next level of his dream research. To have left it in Bromley’s conservatory would have been an intolerable waste. “I really don’t see how my removing the fern could have anything to do with this,” he said soothingly. “Perhaps Jones’s interest in Bromley is of a personal nature.” “He’s a Jones. A man of his rank and status would have no reason to pay a personal call upon the daughter of a notorious poisoner, a woman who is rumored to have followed in her father’s footsteps. As far as we have been able to discern, no one of note in the social world calls upon Miss Bromley. The only people she sees are her relations and a few brave botanists.” “Per-perhaps Jones wanted to tour her conservatory,” Hulsey said hopefully. “Everyone in the Society is aware that he is a man of wide-ranging intellectual and scientific interests.” “If it transpires that Caleb Jones decided to call upon Lucinda Bromley for reasons of scientific curiosity, it would be the most astonishing of coincidences. You know how those of us with talent feel about coincidences.” “That conservatory is crammed with specimens. In the unlikely event that Miss Bromley did discover that the fern was gone, it is ridiculous on the face of it to think that she would go so far as to employ a private inquiry agent to look for it. And even more ludicrous to think that Jones would actually take such a silly case. It is just a plant, after all, not a diamond necklace.” Norcross moved forward through the alternating shadow-and-glare cast by the gas lamps. “For your sake, you had better be right. Because that fern is a direct link to you, and you are linked to us.” Hulsey shivered. “I assure you, there is no way Jones could ever make the connection. I used a different name when I called upon Miss Bromley. She has no way of knowing who I am.” Norcross’s mouth twisted in disgust. “You are an idiot, Hulsey. Go back to your experiments and your rats. I will take care of the problem you have caused.” Anger surfaced in Hulsey, momentarily suppressing his fear. He drew himself up to his full height. “I resent your remarks, sir. There is no other man alive in England today who can even begin to compare to me when it comes to the study of the chemistry of the paranormal. No one. Why, it would require another Newton to compete with me.” “Yes, I know, Hulsey. And that is all that is saving you at this moment. Trust me when I tell you that if there was another Newton available, hell, if there was anyone else who possessed your skills and talents, the leader would have ordered your execution in a heartbeat.” Hulsey stared at him, appalled. Norcross withdrew a gold snuffbox from his pocket, flipped open the hinged lid with a graceful motion and took a pinch of the contents. He inhaled the powder with a sharp, practiced snort. Then he smiled his slow, terrifying smile. “Do you understand me, Hulsey?” he asked very softly. The strong currents of energy struck Hulsey with the force of a blow, shattering his already shaky nerves. He was no longer merely frightened, he was paralyzed with terror. Under the onslaught of Norcross’s talent, his pulse began to beat so quickly and so erratically that he thought he might faint. He gasped for breath but all the oxygen seemed to have been pumped out of the room. It was as if he confronted some dread monster of the night, a creature out of a nightmare. The logical side of his nature assured him that this was no vampire or supernatural phantom standing in front of him. It was just Norcross employing his bizarre talent to induce a sense of mindless panic. But that knowledge did nothing to assuage the sensation. Unable to support himself any longer, Hulsey collapsed to his knees and began to rock back and forth. He heard a high, keening shriek and realized it was coming from his own throat. “I asked you a question, Hulsey.” Hulsey knew he must answer but he could not. When he opened his mouth the only noise that emerged was an incomprehensible stutter. “Y-y-yessss,” he managed. Evidently satisfied with the reaction, Norcross gave him another razor-sharp smile. Hulsey was vaguely amazed that fangs did not appear. He realized the mind-numbing fear was receding. He discovered that he could breathe again. “Excellent,” Norcross said. He pocketed the snuffbox. “I do believe that you comprehend me very well, indeed. Get up, fool.” Hulsey grabbed the edge of the workbench and hauled himself erect. It was not easy. He had to maintain his grip in order to keep himself from collapsing a second time. Norcross went out the door, closing it in a calm, controlled manner that was, in its own way, just as unnerving as the wild, predatory excitement that had burned in his eyes a moment ago. Hulsey waited until his pulse had slowed somewhat. Then he sank down onto the stool. “It is all right,” he said aloud. “You can come out now. He is gone.” A door cracked open. Bertram came cautiously into the room. He was clearly shaken. “Norcross is mad,” Bertram whispered. “Yes, I know.” Hulsey massaged his aching head. “What do you think he meant when he said steps would be taken to make sure Jones does not connect the fern to you?” Hulsey looked at his son. Bertram was a mirror image of himself at twenty-three and a brilliant talent in his own right. His psychical abilities and, hence, his interests were a little different—no two talents were ever identical—but they complemented each other very well in the laboratory. Bertram made the ideal research assistant. Someday, Hulsey thought with a touch of paternal pride, his son would make bold inroads into the mysteries of the paranormal. “I don’t know what he meant,” Hulsey said. “The important thing is that whatever the steps are, they don’t affect us.” “How do you know that?” “Because if they did, we’d both be dead by now.” Wearily, Hulsey got up from the stool and went back to the cage. The rats watched him intently. They were new, replacements for the six that had died last week. He picked up the flask and emptied the rest of the contents into the water dish. The thirsty rats rushed forward to drink. “Are all patrons so unreasonable?” Bertram asked. “In my experience, the answer is yes. They’re all cracked.”