I observed the Captain for a long moment. Was he a specimen, my patient, or something else?

  Even in slumber, this torporous coma imposed by the Affliction, he was an unsettling presence. The power surge he’d described while harvesting the hot blood still echoed in my mind, acute and troubling.

  I retrieved my notebook, turned the page to my baseline observation, and created a new column. The Affliction had not altered his physical dimensions. He was a tall man, slightly over six feet. His physique remained lean and wiry, that of a soldier rather than a brute. His face, scrubbed clean and at rest, was angular and severe: high cheekbones, strong jaw, hawkish nose. The war had left its mark on him. The saber scar on his cheek, more likely from a duel than battle, was still evident. The haunted, hollowed-out look around his eyes was a permanent feature, shadows etched deep.

  All observations recorded, I returned the notebook to its place on the shelf. I contemplated the effectiveness of my “scalpel.” His discipline and adaptability were exceptional, and his mental faculties were well above average. I’d never asked him where he studied, but it was clear he was an educated man. Given his pronunciation of certain words, I estimated it was not his native land, Virginia.

  This man, this weapon, had become undeniably powerful in a short period. His life experience and pragmatic nature allowed him to develop at an accelerated rate, faster than I’d anticipated.

  Therein lay the problem.

  The Captain had handily destroyed two Wights, killed Vane’s chief Thrall, and positively identified the only competent threat from the mortal authorities in town.

  He’d succeeded in his mission, but he’d done so with the subtlety of a full frontal cavalry charge. The Madam was removed like a cancerous tumor, but the psychological impact on the Captain was troubling. His feelings, “invincible” and “divine,” could be problematic. The look in his eyes when he returned had been wild and predatory, barely leashed. He held himself back with his Cold Iron will, but the violence he restrained was palpable. He hadn’t merely defeated her; he’d reveled in the kill.

  That was the crux of my problem. I’d deluded myself into believing he would be my weapon to wield, but the Instinct within him was a force in its own right. My “scalpel” had become a predator, and he was attracting attention.

  That, I could not abide. Particularly, Joanna Clay’s attention. She was too competent and too dangerous to have on the case. Her reserved calm in the face of a monstrous predator was genuinely remarkable. She hadn’t flinched but taken aim and fired at him. If that had been Brody or one of his less-than-competent deputies, I would have little concern.

  She would not stop or fail to track every rumor and analyze every shred of evidence. The bullet she found would become the damning piece. Eventually, she would figure out that silver had been moved through the Apothecary and track it to me. If I could figure it out, it would be foolish to assume she couldn’t.

  If a small town deputy could find me, how long until the Ordo Vesalius made the same conclusions? My status as an “Unworthy Fugitive” ensured my anonymity had a short shelf life. The Golden Gate Lodge was close by, in San Francisco. Soon, there would be a train line connecting to Cinder Creek. The rumor of a Vampire, or any other unexplained phenomenon, would have a team of anatomists on the rails posthaste.

  They would drag me back to Boston in shackles, or simply vivisect me in my own laboratory as a final lesson. No, that would not be acceptable. My anonymity would soon be fully compromised, and my safety no longer assured. I didn’t know if I could trust the Captain’s Cold Iron to save me from his base instinctual urges. I must take my own precautions.

  Work began immediately. My gaze moved from Silas to my alchemical lab. If I were to survive to continue my research, I would need insurance not only against Vane but for potential... complications.

  It would also be prudent to start preparing for the possibility of a hasty relocation. It wouldn’t be the first time... and probably not the last.

  I went upstairs to my office and removed the Advanced Primer on Alchemical Enhancement from the false bottom of the trunk. I flipped past the ribbon marking my most recent research on the Blood Bond. I would need the appendix on alchemical warding. The Ordo Vesalius had developed many defensive compounds and recipes over its three-century history.

  I found several formulae that could be useful to me, but the Tincture of Aversion seemed particularly apt. Its purpose was to make human Anima repellent to the Instinct of Afflicted beings. It would be incredibly effective against Wights but unlikely to repel a thinking true Vampire like Vane... or Silas.

  The primary ingredient of the tincture crossed over with other recipes designed to interact with the Affliction: silver nitrate. I read through the remaining ingredients and hypothesized potential alterations.

  I also considered prior research. When crafting the Anima Spectacles, I’d spent considerable time learning how to stain Anima with a visual binder. I wondered if I could use a binder on my own Anima for a purpose other than visual alteration. I read deeper into the topic, examining several different recipes.

  Eventually, I came upon a recipe designed to poison and destroy Anima with prolonged exposure; essentially, a way to kill without leaving medical evidence. One of the notes in a sidebar gave me an idea. “The elixir must be consumed and fully digested. Upon ingestion, but prior to full digestion, it gives the temporary impression of damaged or poisoned Anima.”

  The idea took shape between one breath and the next. What if I could create a topical balm that didn’t merely mimic the properties of silver but made me smell sickly, or poisoned to them on an instinctual level? The resulting compound would dampen and obfuscate me from afar and act as a repellent if they came too close. I jotted down the name: The Silvered Veil.

  I checked my supplies, wanting to begin distilling and refining immediately. I had plenty of silver nitrate and a dwindling supply of adeps lanae, but I was missing the rest. I made a list and donned my bonnet. A trip to the Apothecary was in order.

  I exited the clinic through the front door and set off toward the center of town. I waved to Mr. Abernathy, who was working in the small cemetery, his spade biting into the soft earth. He was the only person in town doing brisk business lately.

  The town was abuzz with activity. Distrust and paranoia hung in the air, thick as smoke from a forest fire.

  The morning was crisp, the sky clear. I walked with a purpose, my medical bag over one shoulder, every inch the respectable frontier physician. No one looked twice at Dr. Foss making her rounds.

  As I approached the town square, a small crowd dispersed from the sheriff’s office. The banker and the mayor, their faces tight with agitation. The droopy-mustached lumber foreman. All of them stalking away with the stiff-backed indignation of men whose demands had been met.

  I slowed my pace, adjusting the angle of my parasol to better shield my face while I observed. The sheriff’s office door stood ajar. Raised voices carried from within, muffled by distance and walls.

  I could only catch murmurs, indistinct noise. So I focused.

  The world narrowed. The ambient sounds of the street: horses, wagon wheels, distant hammering, receded like a withdrawing tide. The voices inside the office sharpened, as though I stood in the room with them. It was a sensation I’d learned to control over years of necessity, though I’d never named it. I never acknowledged what it meant. Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed.

  “—can’t do this alone, sheriff!” That was Deputy Clay’s voice, edged with frustration.

  “Someone’s targeting Vane’s operation. The Madam wasn’t random. The pattern’s clear—”

  “There is no pattern!” Brody’s voice cracked with strain. “You’re seeing things that ain’t there, Jo. Just do the job. Find the vigilante, bring him in, and stop stirring up—”

  “Stirring up the truth, you mean?” Her voice dropped, dangerous and quiet. “Missing persons reports that get filed and forgotten. ‘Logging accidents’ where the bodies are drained white. The mill runs at night when there are no work orders. I’ve been documenting everything, and it all points—”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Enough!” A hand slammed on a desk, the sound clear as a gunshot. “You’re relieved of duty for the day. Go home. Cool off.”

  “You’re scared,” she said, and there was pity in her voice now, not anger. “I can see it. Whatever Vane has on you, whatever leverage—”

  “Get. Out.”

  A pause. Then, boot heels on wood, approaching the door.

  I turned smoothly, resumed my walk as though I’d never stopped, my parasol angled just so. Deputy Clay emerged a moment later, her jaw set, eyes bright with barely contained fury.

  We passed each other on the boardwalk. She gave me a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

  “Deputy,” I replied, my voice pleasant and empty of concern.

  She stalked past, heading toward the livery. I didn’t need to follow her to know what she’d do next. She was a hunter who’d been told to stop hunting. That never worked. It only made them more determined. I filed the information away, my mind already working through the implications as I walked toward Mei’s apothecary.

  Deputy Clay was building a case. She was connecting the dots. And she wouldn’t stop until she had answers, or until she stumbled into something that killed her. The Captain needed to know. Our timeline had just contracted.

  I entered the apothecary shop, the tiny bell over the door announcing my arrival. The smell of dried herbs, strange minerals, and the cutting tang of chemicals greeted me. It reminded me of the workshops I’d studied in, so long ago.

  Mei stood at the back counter, grinding something fragrant with her mortar and pestle. She wore her practical black tangzhuang jacket and heavy apron. Her hair was pulled back and covered by a patterned blue scarf.

  Seeing her and being surrounded by a familiar atmosphere made me feel at ease. The feeling was also tinged with the knowledge that this connection wouldn’t last. Things were in motion that would forever change the town and probably send me running.

  “Doctor Foss,” she greeted from across the shop, not slowing her work. “Is everything fine? You look rushed... or...”

  I studied her, not expecting her words of concern. Lin Mei was young, but her eyes were old. She saw me and felt familiar enough to speak plainly. The honesty disarmed me. I decided not to lie to her. She’d already helped with clandestine orders, but today would be different.

  “‘I remained too much inside my head,’” I quoted Poe. Mei didn’t know the quote, based on her reaction, but she understood the sentiment. “Thank you for your concern, Mei. I spend too much time alone and often wear my worries on my face.”

  “I understand completely,” she said with a thin smile.

  “Predictably, I require your services.” I slid my list across the counter: three ounces of powdered bone phosphorus, six ounces of adeps lanae, ten ounces of spiritus vini, and one pound of brimstone.

  Mei traced the list with her finger, taking in each item. Her eyes showed no surprise, as if I’d ordered ginseng and willow bark.

  “This... is not medicinal, Doctor,” she said, her voice low and sure. She was acknowledging a truth. She turned, straightening her jacket, and began weighing the brimstone. “This is alchemy. My father’s trade.”

  “Your father was a true man of science. He was brilliant,” I said, watching her closely. “He and I corresponded briefly, before...”

  “Before he was murdered,” she finished flatly. She didn’t turn. She methodically measured the powdered bone phosphorus, scooping it into a waxed paper envelope. “They said it was a fire. They called it an alchemical accident,” she scoffed, a short, bitter sound. “My father was a Master. He didn’t have ‘accidents.’”

  I’d never heard such vehemence in her voice.

  She turned and stared me down. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? Did the Ordo Vesalius send you?”

  My stomach sank, and my eyes hardened. It felt like a trap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t,” she cut me off. Her voice was still quiet, but laced with something biting. “I read his journal. The real ones, before they were burned. He was an Apprentice Naturalist for the Golden Gate Lodge, recruited for his knowledge... his... lore.”

  “Lore?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. One day, it would be the death of me.

  “My family and I are not merely apothecaries,” Mei said, calming slightly. “We are... practitioners. Alchemists, you would call us, but our tradition has ties to the Jade Hand. They know things that the Ordo, for all its dogmatic trappings, is only discovering. The flow of Qi, or Anima, and other lore. My father believed the men of the Golden Gate Lodge were his colleagues, and his association would bring prosperity to both. He learned they are merely thieves. Brigands in suits.”

  My mind reeled at the revelation. The Jade Hand? Even the Ordo had only fragmented, terrified reports of the Hong Kong Cabal.

  Mei set the jar of adeps lanae on the counter and slid it toward me. “They used him,” she continued. Her voice was simmering with anger, reminding me of Silas. “Vane, and the other one... Julien. They didn’t just use my father to contact the Jade Hand. They used his skill. He was forced to help Vane create his drug. He made it stronger, more addictive, more... binding.”

  She looked at me, then at the black stain on the workbench. “It was more than just creating a drug. They wanted him to do so much more. They put flesh diagrams in front of him and told him to make them work. These ‘Galvanic Abominations,’ they called them, were the work of the Ordo, not our tradition,” she said, voice low, eyes downcast. “I saw the drawings. Stitched constructs, flesh and metal, animated by... something unknown. Unknown to me and my father.”

  “Doctor,” she said, meeting my eyes. “You’re a woman of science. A healer, not a ghoul. So was my father. He refused. He told them his work was done, and he was leaving this place.”

  Her knuckles turned white, gripping the counter. “A week later, they did it. They called it an accident. Julien was near the shop early that night. He was... immaculate, and smug, like he knew something...”

  Silence reigned. Neither of us said anything. She knew how deep it all went, and so much more.

  “I am not one of them. Either group,” I said quietly, firmly. “Miss Mei, I have been branded an Unworthy Fugitive in the rolls of the Ordo.” I saw understanding in her eyes. She knew I was kill-on-sight for their members. “I fled the Ordo for the very reasons your father was murdered. They have no morality. No humanity. They use science as a front for butchery and power games. They used my family against me. To control me. But it didn’t work.”

  Mei’s eyes, full of anger and dark intent, held mine. We understood each other. Recognition. An alliance?

  “Vane and Julien are the local manifestations of a greater disease,” I said, pressing, hoping. “The Ordo Vesalius is the source. I’m going to destroy them. For my family and your father.”

  Mei was silent for a long time. She appraised me again, as though seeing me for the first time. It was the same appraisal I’d given the Captain, trying to decide if he was a weapon or a threat.

  Finally, she nodded. “Good,” she said, packing my order into a bundle.

  “I’m glad we understand each other,” I said genuinely. “Can I ask you to do me a small favor?” I put another piece of paper on the counter, and she nodded. “I need you to send a telegram to your contact in San Francisco about the ‘special item’ I commissioned. I’m going to need some... custom modifications to the original design.”

  Mei nodded, almost a bow. “You are cutting a tree, and you don’t know how far the roots go. You can’t fight them from your clinic with no information.” She quickly went to the back room. A stone scraped, then a small jingle of metal. She returned shortly with an old brass key, covered in patina from its hiding spot.

  “My father did the ledgers for the town council,” she whispered. “This was his key to the records office. They have copies of Vane’s land deeds, shipping manifests, and more. My father suspected betrayal and hid this.” She pressed it into my hand.

  I closed my fist around the key, holding it tight. A grimace of determination on my face.

  “Find what they’re hiding, Doctor,” Mei said, her anger a smoldering ember. “And burn them to the ground.”

  We exchanged a grim nod, and I left the shop. The key was my first real weapon. There would surely be something I could use to tip the scales.

  “Scientia potentia est,” I muttered, quoting Hobbes. Knowledge is power.

  I returned to the clinic before the sun set and made my way to the cellar. I removed the precious cargo from my satchel, ready to create the Silvered Veil.

  I glanced across the cellar at the Captain. He stirred, telling me the sun had touched the horizon line. The air shifty subtly. A cold predatory aura emanated from him, like the Instinct waking on its own. My paranoia felt justified.

  My hands worked quickly, steadily, and sure. I dissolved the silver nitrate in the spiritus vini alcohol base and slowly added the other ingredients in precisely dispensed quantities. I filtered and processed the fluid. When it was fully prepared, I poured it slowly into three small jars. All I needed to do then was wait for the balm to cool and solidify.

  The Silvered Veil was complete. I looked at the jars, proud of my work. I planned to give one to Mei, use one myself, and secret the other away in a hidden stash. Next time I went into town, I would be veiled. And if my scalpel ever turned on me, I would be prepared.

  “What’s in the jars, Doc?” Silas’s voice startled me. I’d been lost in my work. How long had he been awake? I turned to see him sitting cross-legged on the cot, watching me. His eyes burned with a heavy scrutiny. Despite his calm exterior, the knowledge of his savage capability hung between us.

  “A precaution, Captain,” I said. For the monsters outside, and those I kept close.