The Perfect Poison by Amanda Quick Page A

paranormal is very thin, almost transparent. His goal is to learn how to manipulate that state. Dr. Hulsey’s chief problems appear to be of a financial nature, however.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Caleb began to pace the room, his fiercely etched features set in hard lines of intense concentration. “Every indication points to the fact that Hulsey came from a poor background. I don’t think that he has any social connections and certainly no fortune of his own. Setting up a well-equipped laboratory is expensive.”
    “In other words, he requires a patron to finance his research.”
    Caleb glanced back over his shoulder, looking pleased with her conclusion. It is as if I were a bright child or an intelligent pet dog that had just passed some test, she thought. How very annoying.
    “Precisely.” Caleb continued to prowl the room. “His last patrons were not primarily interested in dream research, however. They had a different goal in mind. They employed him to re-create the founder’s formula.”
    He stopped and watched her very intently, obviously awaiting a reaction of some sort. She did not know what he expected so she merely nodded.
    “Go on,” she said politely.
    He frowned. “You do not appear surprised, Miss Bromley.”
    “Should I be?”
    “Most of those within the Society believe that the formula is nothing more than a legend associated with Sylvester the Alchemist.”
    “I recall my parents speculating on the possible composition of such a formula on a few occasions. Is that so odd? The founder’s drug, if it ever existed, would have been botanical in nature and my parents were very talented botanists. It was perfectly natural that they would have had some interest in it.”
    “Damnation.” Caleb’s voice roughened with frustration. “So much for the deepest, darkest secrets of the Society.”
    She waited but there was no apology for the rude language this time. She supposed she had better become accustomed to Caleb’s lack of drawing room manners.
    “If it is any consolation, my parents eventually concluded that any formula that could enhance one’s psychical talents would be extremely dangerous and inherently unpredictable,” she said. “We simply do not know enough about the psychical senses to risk tinkering with that aspect of our natures.”
    “Your parents were very wise,” Caleb said. There was great depth of feeling in every word.
    “They were also convinced that it was highly unlikely that Sylvester ever achieved his goal of creating such an elixir. After all, he lived in the late sixteen hundreds. People still believed in alchemy in those days. He would not have had the advantages of modern science.”
    “Unfortunately, your parents were wrong,” Caleb said grimly. “Sylvester did, indeed, concoct a recipe for such a formula. The damn stuff works but there are, as Mr. and Mrs. Bromley suspected, some vicious side effects.”
    Astonished, she could only stare at him for a moment. “Are you certain?”
    “Yes.”
    “What are these side effects you mentioned?” she asked, suddenly intrigued, in spite of herself. She was a botanist, after all.
    He stopped at the far end of the room and looked at her.
    “Among other things, the drug is highly addictive,” he said. “What little we know of its effects comes from Sylvester’s old journals and the notes of those who have tried to re-create it.”
    “Hulsey is not the first to attempt to concoct the drug?”
    “Unfortunately, no. Some time ago a man named John Stilwell also conducted experiments on the formula. He died in the process. His journals and papers were confiscated by the new Master of the Society.”
    “Gabriel Jones, your cousin.”
    He inclined his head to acknowledge that fact and continued. “Those records are now secure in the Great Vault at Arcane House. I’ve studied them. A couple of things were readily apparent. According to Stilwell, once a person starts taking the drug, he cannot stop. If he does, he